


Homewrecker

by teorema



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bang Chan is Whipped, But he’s engaged, Chan is a company owner, Complex feelings, Denial of Feelings, Dialogue Heavy, Eventual Smut, Everyone is very complicated, Falling in Love Quickly?, Growing into the characters, Heavy Angst, Lee Minho | Lee Know is a Confident Gay, Lee Minho | Lee Know is a Model, M/M, Minho is very unstable, Past Drug Addiction, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smoking, Sometimes some fluff, Swearing, Very Human Characters, a lot of feelings, but it’s very heavy angst, long fic, mental breakdowns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:40:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 143,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25874515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teorema/pseuds/teorema
Summary: Minho has good taste in men. It’s just that most of them are with someone else. When he meets Chan, though, he’s over being the second choice, even though Chan wants him, Minho has to fight his way out.When everything is life and death, You may feel like there's nothing left. Instead of love and trust and laughter what you get is happy never after. But deep down all you want is love, the pure kind we all dream of. But we cannot escape the past. So you and I will never last
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 51
Kudos: 154





	1. Starts with a bar and a blazer

**Author's Note:**

> This used to be a part of a series, which I couldn’t finish because I got so caught up in this plot that I didn’t want to write the other characters. It’s complicated, of course, it’s based on Electra Heart.

Minho sits down on the red seat, he’s a little dizzy, whiskey always messes with his head way too much. He hates being drunk because he gets way too human after it, he thinks way too much and way too loudly, however, he loves being drunk because he forgets about everything when he wakes up. Everything for Minho is always in a list, Minho likes organizing his thoughts in lists filled with pros and cons, the cons are always longer than the pros but yet sometimes he does things anyway, he’s reluctant about rules, even his own. 

The only thing with most pros in his life is probably his best friends and fashion, that’s where the puzzle pieces connect. He’s a perfectionist when things don’t connect it’s annoying, he gets way too stressed and quiet. Alcohol makes the pieces blurry so he doesn’t mind thinking about them, however, without the pieces he realizes that he’s an incomplete puzzle, missing pieces everywhere. 

His tummy is getting cold, that’s the only thing that bothers him, but as soon as he looks around, men in suits bother him, the lighting on that hotel bar is extremely yellow which bothers him too. The black haired dude sitting next to him bothers him too, even more, when he realizes he’s looking at him. 

Minho looks to the side, over his shoulder, a man wearing a suit underneath the yellow light, great, he’s annoyed. The man isn’t such a bad view, even underneath the ugly lighting, he’s actually pretty, red, plump, bratz lips, incredibly buff, he has a very tough yet kind face, it looks weirdly charming. Minho is drunk, he knows that for sure now, since he’s looking at him like a dumbass. 

“Uh, are you cold?” The man says, his voice is sweet, Minho thinks that he might have an accent, and he’s away to bold to assume Minho speaks Korean, but he does, so the man is annoyingly right. 

“Why? You want to make me warm or something? I’ve heard that a lot,” Minho says, the man might be pretty but he hates the flirty ones, especially the ones with a ring on their fingers.

“No… Sorry if it sounded like a pickup line, it’s only because you’re shaking,” He says, he’s embarrassed, his ears are very red, Minho realizes that he’s very fair, pale face like a vampire.

“Am I?” Minho looks down to himself, he’s actually shaking, it’s weird that he’s too dizzy to realize that, “Oh”

“Do you want my coat?” The man asks. Oh, so he’s the gentle one, which is not Minho’s favorite type of flirt. 

“What are you? Some kind of prince charming or something? I look like a princess in distress to you?” Minho says blinking slowly, “I might be a princess, but I’m a dangerous one, like Brave… Oh, I would look so pretty with red hair…” Minho starts mumbling, he would look very pretty with red hair, he notes that mentally but he’s going to forget it when he's sober.

The man giggles at him and Minho is impressed by how patient he is, “I think it would suit you nicely but, no, I was only wondering,”

“If you insist… My tummy is cold,” Minho whispers to himself, offering his hand to the man and the dark haired man takes his blazer off handling to him. 

“I think I’ve seen your face before,” The man says, he looks at Minho with a face, Minho can’t really decide what that look means, however, it doesn’t look like a red flag.

“I’m like a superstar, I’m pretty sure you did,” Minho bragged but his voice sounds so drunk that it doesn’t have that impact, he hates that about being drunk too he can’t take himself seriously. 

“I guess that’s it,” The man giggles, he’s so calm, Minho is pretty sure someone else would think he’s just a drunk and rude mess, but that man, he finds it fine, “I’m Bang Chan, by the way,” 

“Like the dish?” Minho aks and the man looks confused.

“Nope, with a G,” He answers and Minho looks at him, he smiles somewhat cutely in comparison with his tough face. 

“Wait, aren’t you like that rich kid?” Minho asks. He’s pretty sure he has heard that name before, somewhere in the news maybe.

“You can say it like that, I guess,” He laughs, he’s weird Minho thinks, he laughs about everything. 

“I’m Lee Minho , by the way, yes that Lee Minho … Not the actor, the hot model,” Minho says smiling and Chan smiles back. Chan seems nice and normally Minho isn’t into nice people as much, they are always scared of him, however, Chan looks fine, there’s no fear on Chan’s small eyes. 

“The hot model… Right, I’ve heard about you,” Chan says, Minho realizes that Chan is holding a cup, filled with whiskey. Well, another whiskey enthusiast, “You do dress like a model,” 

“So, you get clothing, uh? Yet, you’re still dressed in that boring ass suit,” Minho jokes and Chan laughs, his suit is actually pretty warm though and very big on him, Chan is very buff and Minho quickly stares at his muscles underneath that white shirt of his.

“There’s not a lot of choices when it comes to fashion in business,” Chan says, his head is bent to the side and his hair is still in place, he has his hair up, which makes him look a little older than he actually is.

“That must be very boring… I would die if I had to wear suits every day,” Minho says dramatically and Chan smirks, he has dimples, Minho notices that. 

“You get used to it,” Chan says and Minho stares at him, he doesn’t sound happy at all, Minho is intrigued by him. Minho finds people around him intriguing all the time, he likes asking questions, however, he hates answering questions.

“You like that? The business stuff, I mean,” Minho asks and Chan looks up for a bit before answering.

“Honestly, not at all,” Chan laughs and Minho stares at him, even though Chan looks like a businessman with the hair up and a suit, yet, it doesn’t suit him very well. He’s too pretty and too nice for business. 

“What do you like then?” Minho asks and Chan takes a sip of his whiskey, there Minho goes, heavy talks with strangers in a hotel bar. 

“Uh… Like music, a lot,” Chan almost whispers, like he’s embarrassed by himself, Minho wants to punch him, he’s unhappy but yet living his life like that, he doesn’t get it. His family was against fashion, against Minho watching barbie or liking boys, so like the rebel he is, he ignored them. 

“Say it louder next time, I know it’s too important for you to whisper,” Minho says sharply, the way he talked to Changbin when he let himself down. 

“I like music,” Chan says it louder and Minho smiles at him proudly.

“Which kind? My best friend is into classical music,” Minho asks and then he handles his hand to Chan, he looks confused until he realizes Minho is asking for a sip of the whiskey he’s holding. Chan gives it to him and Minho takes a very heavy sip, feeling the alcohol burn his throat. 

“I like a little bit of everything, but I work more with rap and EDM beats,” Chan says, and for the first time in that conversation, he seems excited, like a little puppy. Minho is a cat person because his personality works perfectly with them, he’s quiet and independent, a little indifferent but with a big heart, calm yet very easy to annoy. Chan is much more of a puppy, kind, soft and a little way too good, his eyes shine when he talks about music just like a puppy when someone shows him a ball. A big dumb puppy.

“Interesting, so you produce your own music?” Minho asks, taking another sip and then giving the glass back. Chan hums in agreement.

“I learned how to play the guitar when I was younger and then some years later I got into producing,” Chan tells him with a smile on his face, he sounds proud of himself, Minho’s stare is satisfied and he knows Chan realizes that, “Do you style clothing?” 

“I do, actually,” Minho says, he’s a little way too drunk to ignore questions, “It was the reason I started, I was planning to be a stylist but I was too pretty for that,” 

“I know you’re pretty but why so?” Chan is smooth and Minho likes that, nice to know the puppy can bark. Chan is smirking and Minho stares at him with a funny face. 

“I’ve been born to be a star,” Minho says and Chan looks at him weirdly, Minho laughs, “No, like for real, I just enjoy the spotlights way too much for my own sake,” 

“They match you well,” Chan says, he sounds weird and Minho smirks at him. Smooth like a blanket. 

“That’s because you haven’t seemed me underneath good lighting,” Minho says it flirting and Chan smirks at him, “Have I told you how much I hate this lighting?” Minho is quick at changing subjects and he does hate that lighting so much that it annoys him deeply. 

“Yellow lights are ugly as fuck,” Chan says, sipping his whiskey, it’s amazing how Chan is quick at getting the thread off the easy talk, he never runs out of words to say. 

“Yeah, right?” Minho giggles and then he stares a Chan again, he’s handsome, way too handsome which is always a problem, Minho hates handsome guys because he’s heavily attracted to beauty, as a model it’s pretty obvious “You don’t look like you swear, by the way,”

Chan laughs, “Why?” He asks, playing with his own hands, Minho quickly stares at the ring he uses and that should be a red flag if it wasn’t so dangerously hot, Minho has a bad habit, he’s a homewrecker. 

“You look like a serious dude, with the suit and this hairstyle,” Minho says, his tone is so flirty that he’s uncomfortable with himself, normally he doesn’t sound that cheesy but the alcohol messes with his senses.

“I am… But I don’t feel like playing serious with you,” Chan says, tables turn a lot, he’s great at keeping the flirty thread too, which is annoying because Minho likes it way too much. Shy guys are cute but Minho likes challenges, Chan is a handsome challenge since he’s never scared of answering him. 

“What if I found serious hot?” Minho smirks and Chan laughs, then he stares at Minho his gaze is different, Minho would laugh if his serious face wasn’t so pleasing. 

“You were much smoother in the begging,” Minho says and laughs afterward, Chan laughs with him and his laugh is cute, a little. 

“Why? You don’t like it like this?” Chan says and he’s so dangerous, Minho likes it. Chan changed his persona and Minho realizes that he wasn’t planning on flirting, but Minho flirted with him. Other boys would get intimidated by Minho, they always do, it takes a flirt or two for them to bail out or get scared, however, Chan hasn’t stutter even once. 

“I do actually, a lot,” Minho says, sharply, he’s trying not to be cheesy while flirting because he wants to be in control, he likes control. Chan is hard to control but yet he falls into Minho’s traps, the only issue is that he plays along. 

Chan asks for another shot of whiskey, he asks for two and Minho is happy because all the flirty things are making his mouth dry. The drinks quickly arrive and Minho takes a sip of his by the metal straw and Chan stares at his lips, with no shame. Minho doesn’t understand when that conversation began to be that flirty, he doesn’t know how Chan sounds like that so easily, he doesn’t know why he’s not annoyed with it. 

“Being a whiskey lover is also something that all company owners do?” Minho says, he keeps the tip of the straw between his red lips and Chan keeps staring at them, “My eyes are over here,” Minho jokes and Chan laughs looking up, he has his tongue between his teeth. 

“How do you know I own a company, uh?” Chan asks and Minho smirks. 

“I’ve heard about you… A chaebol, uh?” Minho chuckles and takes another sip, “21 years old and the owner of a big company,” 

“That would be me,” Chan giggles and Minho smiles at him, crossing his legs, Chan stares at his thighs quickly but not quickly enough to hide it from Minho’s quick cat eyes. 

“So, you have a big office?” Minho asks playing with his straw.

“Why? You want to visit?” Chan answers quickly, it’s way too nice to play with him. 

“Calm down, Christian Grey,” Minho jokes and Chan smiles.

“Actually, I’m Christopher” 

Chan stares at his lips all the time, he’s pretty sure he’s not hearing half of Minho’s non-sense since he’s so fixed at his lips. Chan is way too nice when they’re not flirting he’s talking about things in a cute tone, he pouts a lot when he speaks and he’s way too nervous with his hands, either they’re contained but moving slightly or moving in the air when he gesticulates. They keep going into moments of extreme sexual tension and others that are just easy talk, or even deep talks about things. They got into a discussion about cats and dogs in which Minho realized something weird about Chan, he likes to please. 

“Why did you change your mind when I gave my opinion?” Minho asks, he looks at Chan with a curious gaze and Chan looks kind of lost.

“I don’t know?” Chan says in confusion, Minho blinks slowly watching his gaze. Chan is the prettiest when he is confused, he does a thing with his lips, a cute thing. 

“You do that a lot?” Minho asks, taking a sip of his whiskey, Chan pushes his lips together and his dimple appears. 

Minho is not used to that personality trait. He’s sharp and strong about his opinions, same as Changbin and Seungmin, so their discussions take hours until someone proves the other one wrong, but Chan never does that. As soon as they have a disagreement he turns back and agrees with Minho . 

“Actually… I do,” Chan giggles nervously and Minho keeps himself serious, Chan is out of his comfort zone and Minho likes that. People normally don’t challenge each other, Minho believes that everyone should, comfort zones make you weak - at least that is what he has learned. He has seen Changbin destroy himself because of them. 

“Do you feel like you have to please me? Or you know, everyone else?” Minho asks and he moves a little closer to Chan, he looks both surprised and scared, Chan looks trapped like Minho has a knife on his neck. Minho doesn’t like to be a villain but somehow he has been mistaken as one, he likes to think that he has a different approach, and he does, actually. 

“Uh… I’m not sure, Minho ,” Chan says unsure, he’s truly trapped, Minho has realized that’s something that he hides a little bit too deep to dig up, but Minho feels an urge to help him, Minho is not the best at words because everything sounds like punches. “I think I do, but…”

“Be honest, Chris, I know you’re drunk enough to mumble about this,” Minho tries to seem more approachable, he’s not sure if it works because he’s drunk and a bitch, two things that don’t work on his favor.

“I’m very non-confrontational and I don’t like when people get mad at me,” Chan says very quietly and then takes a huge sip of whiskey, Minho stares at him. Chan is way too kind for his own sake, he can see that being kind is not bad but at Chan’s level it is harmful. 

Minho touches Chan’s thigh and he looks surprised with the unexpected touch, “Don't you ever let someone silence you because you don’t want to lose them, it’s not worth it,” Minho sounds like a therapist but he’s being raw, which is difficult to manage. 

“But I don’t mind it,” Chan says in his defense looking a little, nervous and Minho keeps his hand on Chan’s thighs. 

“You think you don’t,” Minho says and lets out a little smirk, Chan smiles with his mouth closed, looking at Minho’s eyes. It’s a weird moment, it’s like Chan has changed a little, there's a little thing in his eyes that Minho can’t wrap his head around. 

“Thank you for that, I guess,” Chan says shyly, he bites his lips and Minho stares at them, the tables have turned, Chan has appealing lips and his shy gaze is the prettiest, Minho can’t help but stare, “How are you like the wisest drunk model I’ve ever met?” Chan jokes and Minho smiles.

“It’s a talent of mine… I would say I’m special, not to brag or anything,” Minho laughs, biting his tongue and Chan stares at him that way again, smiling with his mouth closed, head bent to the side and warm eyes. 

“Minho ,” Chan calls, his voice is smooth, so smooth Minho almost melts. 

“What?” He says, smirking softly. 

“You’re so pretty,” Chan says, again so smoothly and slowly that he sounds sleepy, maybe he’s very drunk. Minho smirks. 

“I know,” He says, smiling and Chan smiles back, pretty aligned teeth and shiny eyes. 

Minho walks in a funny way in the hall, jumping and humming a song, Chan walks a little bit behind him, he’s smiling and Minho just doesn’t care about being dumb. Minho is addicted to his own youth, he likes to act like a dumb teenager a lot of the time, being his serious self when needed but a little kid when he can, normally when he’s not drunk, he would be, silent and serious, but the alcohol makes him happy and bubbly. 

“Chanie, where is your room?” Minho asks in a singing voice and he doesn’t stop to say it he keeps jumping, Chan holds his laugh.

“We’re almost there,” Chan says, they both don’t know why they’re going to his room, Minho only said that he hated the yellow light so much that it was making him sad, and then got up and asked for Chan’s floor. Then in the elevator, he kept watching himself in the mirror and Chan watched Minho too, he even commented that Minho was right about being prettier under good lighting. 

“There he is,” Chan says pointing to the last room in the hallway, Minho stops in front of the door and waits for Chan who is holding his card.

When the door opens Minho realizes that Chan feels anxious, they’re officially alone with each other and Chan is probably scared of himself alone with Minho. Minho in the other hand feels relaxed, he hates being in public, even though he is a celebrity, he’s an introvert. Chan gets inside the room and turns the lights on, he’s in the better room of the hotel, Minho smirks looking around, it’s fancy. 

Chan has a big living room in his room, his own bar, and very comfortable and fancy couches. Minho walks inside the room as it is his own, and Chan looks like the person visiting, a little shy and contained. Minho sits in the biggest couch, he sits with his legs intertwined over the couch. 

“Come here, Chanie, don’t be shy,” Minho jokes and Chan goes to sit in the couch, he sits a little far away, stiff posture looking forward and Minho giggles, “Are you scared to look at me? I don’t bite, only if you ask,” Minho says flirting and Chan laughs, he moves in the couch sitting sideways looking at Minho .

“Happy?” Chan asks and Minho hums in agreement.

“So, you’re actually Christian Grey,” Minho says smirking, “Nice room,” 

“My secretary booked it for me,” Chan says, playing with his fingers, Minho stares at them again, looking at the ring quickly and then focusing on the veins on Chan’s hands. 

“I hope you don’t do bdsm with her,” Minho jokes and Chan laughs, running his hands through his hair, Minho stares at him smiling. 

“I can’t promise,” Chan jokes and Minho smiles.

“Do you like BDSM, Christopher?” Minho aks and Chan laughs nervously, Minho got him like a predator catches his prey, he runs his hand through his hair again, Minho realizes that he does that when he’s anxious. 

“I don’t know, I never tried,” Chan says, his tone is nervous, Minho is pleased with that, once again taking Chan out of his comfort zone.

“What a boring life,” Minho says sharply, and Chan bites his lips, “But do you want to try it, though?” 

“Why?” Chan answers quickly, he’s so nervous, Minho chuckles, bending his head to the side laying it into the couch.

“Calm down, honey, I just want to know,” Minho lightens his tone trying to calm Chan down even though he’s finding the fear kind of entertaining. 

“Maybe, yeah,” Chan says unsure of himself, Minho raises his eyebrow. 

“You should, you seem very stressed,” Minho says, calmly. Chan goes silent for a moment, he does that thing with his lips, Minho knows he's thinking about what he should say. Chan always plays along but Minho feels how cautious he is with himself and his words. Chan is indeed stressed, he always moves anxiously and Minho can see how tense he is, always sitting so stiffly and contained. 

“Do you… Like it?” Chan asks once again unsure and quiet, almost scared of his own words. 

“I do, a lot,” Minho admits, with no further discomfort or any kind of a shame, Minho is always like that confident and straight forward, Chan always seems shocked when Minho acts like that though, maybe such a contained guy is a little envious.

“You do it a lot, then?” Chan asks, a little bit firmer now. Minho guesses that he realized that these topics aren’t something Minho is cautions or ashamed of. 

“Of course, it’s not fun without it,” Minho says sincerely without resisting, and he goes by those words, Minho is the challenge guy, he likes it different and fun, “Tell me something, do you have kinks?” Minho asks naturally, just like someone asks about the weather.

“You mean, like, fetish?” Chan asks and Minho noods, “I guess I do, I’m pretty sure everybody does,” He says and Minho smiles. 

“It’s more common than people think it is, actually,” Minho chuckles, “They’re just too afraid of it… You seem like one of those people, scared of having kinks,” Minho says and Chan chuckles nervously.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Chan says, a little bit distant and Minho is intrigued, he’s literally about to punch him until he speaks up, which sounds wrong but Minho doesn’t treat it as something bad. He just wants Chan, to be honest. Something that he knows sounds challenging to him. 

“Don’t be,” Minho says, softly, “Tell me, what are they?” Minho asks and Chan’s expression gets messy, he’s embarrassed. 

“Minho,” He says quietly, Minho raises his eyebrows again.

“What? Don’t be embarrassed, we don’t kink-shame in this household,” Minho jokes lightening the mood and Chan smiles. 

“It’s just that… I don’t think about it often,” Chan sounds honest and Minho feels kind of bad about it, he gets anxious with the way Chan treats life, in such a way too seriously. 

“You should,” Minho says, “You know, you must know about those things or else you’ll hate your own experiences… I hate that on you,” Minho says a little bit sharper and Chan’s eyes get a little bit surprised. 

“What? Why?” Chan sounds scared, Minho knows how much he seeks pleasing people, he has seen that since the beginning. Chan had a lot of times that he should actually be scared or surprised, but the only time he got actually terrified was when he heard the word hate. 

“You like depriving yourself, and I really can’t understand that I’m sorry,” Minho says rashly like he’s scolding Chan, who takes that scold beautifully, way too good to be healthy.

“Don’t be…” He whispers, “I don’t like that either, it annoys me deeply,” Chan sounds honest again, opening himself a little, Minho stays quiet, allowing him to finish his thoughts and Chan looks so pleased with that, “It’s just how I learned I should be,” 

“Knowledge is nice, but not everything you learn is right,” Minho says with every piece of his honesty, “You’re your own boss Chan, and that doesn’t mean you should police yourself, it means you can allow yourself to do things you want to,” 

“Wise drunk models,” Chan jokes and Minho laughs touching Chan’s shoulder, Chan doesn’t flinch but he smiles, brightly, “I never thought about it that way,”

“Of course you haven’t, you’re way too worried about pleasing people that you forget to please yourself,” Minho says, he makes it sound playful but with all his honesty involved on his words. 

“Honorifics,” Chan says, lightly, relaxed for the first time. 

“Uh?” Minho doesn’t understand.

“Honorifics… I have a huge kink on honorifics,” Chan says and Minho smiles brightly and even proudly.

“Elaborate on that,” Minho says not holding back his happy tone and a large smile.

“It’s weird, but I like calling people with honorifics even though they might be younger than me,” Chan confesses, he’s embarrassed but not in a bad way, he just looks like he’s about to giggle. 

“It’s not weird… To be honest, it’s hot,” Minho says and Chan giggles, “I have interesting news, I’m actually one year younger than you,” Minho tells and Chan looks shocked.

“Wow, you’re so much more mature than me, Minho ,” He says.

“Call me hyung,” Minho says and Chan smiles, his ears are red, Minho smiles back.

“Seriously?” Chan asks surprised but with a smile on his face.

“Yes, if you want to,” Minho says.

“I do!” Chan says excited but then he gets embarrassed, “I mean, okay, hyung,” Chan can’t help himself, smiling brightly after calling Minho hyung. 

“Tell hyung more,” Minho asks and Chan smiles, Minho realizes how relaxed he is now, it’s cute. Chan is mainly but he has this natural aegyo thing, that makes him look like a mainly baby. 

“I haven’t tried that much, kinks,” Chan says, relaxed, “But I know I like it rough,” Chan says more quietly, sex is definitely not a thing he talks about a lot.

“You like to be rough or do you like it on you?” Minho feels that Chan is a sub, he’s sure of it but he asks it anyway.

“Uh, when they do it on me,” Chan says shyly and Minho smiles, Minho is a dom a chaotic dom. Not that he was planning to have sex with Chan, he wants to, he’s hot, but Chan is not that kind of man, Minho can’t explain how he feels about Chan. But he’s not planning to have sex with him, which is odd. 

“Interesting, since you’re sharing, I like to be rough,” Minho says smiling, and Chan’s expression gets a little funny, Minho doesn’t know what is but he sees Chan gulping, it’s not because he’s nervous, Chan still looks relaxed. 

“Oh, you do?” Chan asks, gulping again, Minho stares at him with an eyebrow raised and a smirk.

“I do, I’m what you would call a dom,” Minho says, with little to none of a flirty tone, he wants it to be something common, or else, it gets out of hand. He’s not planning to fuck Chan, he really is not, but if things got out of hand he’s not sure how to handle it. 

“Oh, a dom, I wasn’t expecting that, hyung,” Chan explains, but his tone is low, “I mean, now it makes a lot of sense,” He giggles.

“It’s a common misconception, many men thought I was a sub and ended up very surprised,” Minho tells in a playful way, “I must say, without talking to you I could even think that you were a sub,” He says joking and Chan smiles, with a curious gaze. 

“Why before talking?” Chan asks and Minho giggles, “What?” Chan says laughing. 

“You sound like a sub and act like one too, a bratty one but a sub indeed,” Minho laughs, Chan laughs too, looking at him. Chan is easy-going, it’s always good when he laughs even with the more “mean” toned jokes. 

“I’ve never heard something like that,” Chan giggles looking kind of surprised and Minho smiles at him.

“They never expect that from bosses, they think every business owner is a Christian Grey… Also common misconception, leaders often like to be bossed around in bed,” Minho says and Chan seems awkward like he has been caught doing something weird, it’s funny.

“You’re right, I have to be dominant on my job or else no one will respect me… But outside of my job things go around somewhat differently,” Chan admits and Minho laughs, he’s proud that the Chan who looked so tense before is now publicly talking about his kinks, with no fear of his own words. 

“I’m always dominant since my job doesn’t require me to act otherwise,” Minho says and Chan agrees with his head.

“You seem like you’re such a pain in the ass to everyone who you work with, hyung,” Chan jokes, “Not to be rude,” Chan says afterward a little bit intimidated, Minho only laughs.

“You’re not lying though, I am, and I’m proud of it,” Minho bites his tongue playfully and Chan does that puppy face to him again, the cute one where his eyes shine, “It’s honestly fun,” 

“I can see that. Every time I’ve seen you in the news they talk about how hard it is to book you,” Chan says and Minho chuckles.

“They’re very much right,” Minho says smiling, “What about you? Are you a mean boss? To be honest, I can’t even imagine you raising your voice to someone,” Chan laughs.

“I’m a nice boss, and that’s even scarier,” Chan tells and Minho raises his eyebrow.

“Elaborate on that,” Minho says adjusting his legs, Chan stares at his thighs quickly and then looks at Minho’s eyes again.

“They’re used to you being mad all the time, right?” Chan says and Minho nods, “That’s the point, they have no clue of how I am mad, and not knowing that is scary… Because being scolded by a calm person is very surprising,” Chan arguments and Minho whispers “Oh” and then proceeds to a shocked face.

“You’re right… Since they don’t expect that from you it must be terrifying when you do,” Minho says agreeing with Chan’s argument, “I would find it hot, but I get your point,” Minho jokes and Chan giggles shyly. 

“Your way of being turned on by those things is actually pretty impressive,” Chan jokes, Minho only smirks at him in a flirty way. 

“I bet you’ll find it hot too, I mean, if I ever got mad at you,” Minho says in a low tone, Chan gulps again with a smile on his face. 

“I can’t deny or agree with that,” Chan giggles and Minho smiles at him.

Minho stares deeply on Chan’s eyes and then touches his thigh, Chan looks at him in pure shock. When he gulps again, Minho realizes what that means, Chan does that when he’s turned on, and that’s why he kept acting like that hearing Minho talking about his dominance. Minho can’t help but smile at Chan’s reaction. 

“Can I smoke in your balcony?” Minho asks seductively and Chan looks lost for a second looking around and blinking quickly.

“What?” Chan says getting out of his mindset, Minho’s touch really got him off guard and Minho finds that extremely entertaining.

“Can I smoke in your balcony?” Minho asks again and Chan opens his mouth and very quietly says “Oh”, Minho hasn’t taken his hand off of Chan’s thigh and he sees how hard Chan is trying not to stare at his hand.

“Yes…” Chan says in a very high pitched tone, he proceeds to clean his throat and then he tries talking again, “Of course,” He says now with a stable tone.

“Okay!” Minho says lively, proceeding to take his hand off of Chan’s thigh, the older sighs quietly and Minho quickly gets on his feet, Chan looks a little hypnotized and Minho only looks at him, “You coming?” He asks and Chan looks at him, a little bit lost and after a second he nods and gets up too.

Minho takes the pack out of his back pocket and walks quickly to the balcony, he opens the door and the wind hits his face, for a moment he’s surprised that he’s not feeling cold and then he remembers that he’s wearing Chan’s blazer. He moves his head to the side and smells the blazer a little, Chan uses a very nice and masculine perfume that’s almost intoxicating, Minho loves it way too much.

Minho feels a hand on his waist over the blazer and he looks up and then over his shoulder. Chan’s face is very close to his, his warm breath hits Minho’s cheeks and it’s comfortable since the wind is so cold, he looks up to Chan’s eyes and stops there. Chan’s bright eyes are focused on Minho’s, and Minho only stares back, he feels the warmth of Chan’s body behind him and a tickly feeling goes over his body, he looks at Chan’s thick lips and then looks back into his eyes. When Chan gets a little closer Minho leans forward to touch Chan’s nose with his, Chan closes his eyes and Minho smirks, brushing his cold nose onto Chan’s. He touches his forehead against Chan’s for a second and then gets away. 

Chan opens his eyes when he realizes Minho has left, he looks confused at Minho’s body whose is in front of him walking towards a chair, Minho looks back at him, taking a cigarette off his pack and placing it between his glossy lips. Chan stares at him for a moment and then starts walking. He sits in the chair on Minho’s side and Minho sits too crossing his legs. 

“You want one?” Minho says handling the pack towards Chan who stares at it thinking and then proceeds to take one of. Minho moves his body up so he can reach the lighter on his back pocket and then takes it off, sitting back and lighting his cigarette, he gives Chan the lighter and the older puts the cigarette between his lips lighting it too.

Minho pulls the smoke in and closes his eyes feeling the nicotine getting inside his lungs and spread around his body, it’s relaxing and warm. The smoke gets out by his nose and he stares a Chan, who is shyly pushing the smoke inside.

“Didn’t know you were a smoker too,” Minho says quietly, now that they’re outside it feels a little bit calmer and silent, only the noises of the wind can be heard, so he feels like whispering.

Chan blows the smoke out, “I used to be, It’s been a while since I had one,” Chan whispers, “Honestly, I’ve missed the feeling,” 

“Nicotine sucks but it does feel good,” Minho whispers smiling and then leans his hand towards his face taking another push.

“Oh, hell yeah it does,” Chan says giggling, Minho smiles at him. He’s not sure if he likes the way he’s comfortable around Chan, he’s not seeking for such a nice time with boys, but Chan is just like a soft blanket in the winter, warm, comfortable and soft. 

“When did you start?” Minho asks and Chan gives another push before answering, his face looks even softer in the dark. 

“Around 18,” Chan says blowing the smoke out, “It started as a fun hobby, but I got addicted to the way it calms me down,” Chan whispers and then chuckles, “What about you?” 

“14, probably,” Minho says and Chan opens his mouth in shock, “The same thing, by the way, I needed something to calm me down a little, a getaway, you know?” 

“I do, it works like that for a lot of us,” Chan whispers kind of distant, Minho knows he’s thinking a lot, “My dad used to smoke too, but he stopped when he found his new family,” 

“I didn’t know your parents were divorced,” Minho whispers, he feels a little bad, but he’s glad Chan is sharing. 

“They are, I was like 15? When my dad moved out,” Chan starts telling and then takes a break to smoke, “I was in Australia with my mom but I moved to Korea to work with my dad at the company,” Chan tells, “It was very fucked up when I arrived there and saw that he had a fiancé,” 

“I cannot imagine how fucked up it was,” Minho whispers softly, he feels so sorry, deep down he’s way too emphatic for his own sake, “Your mom stayed there?” Minho asks and then goes back, “You don’t have to talk about it if you want,” 

“It’s okay, hyung,” Chan whispers in a sad tone, “She did for a while, but then she moved to Korea too with my siblings, but she’s okay, she found someone better,” Chan says, he sounds less sad talking about that, Minho is glad that his mom wasn’t suffering, Chan is too good to go through those things. Minho feels a weird urge to protect him. When Changbin was having problems with his parents he used to babysit Changbin like he was his own child. He feels like that with Chan too, his mind might be affected by the alcohol and maybe that’s why he’s being sensitive. 

“I’m so sorry, Chan,” Minho whispers with all his honesty, the words “I wish I could stop you from hurting” get stuck on Minho’s throat, he ignores the feeling, he ignores his urge because it’s dumb. Feeling, is the dumbest thing humans do. Being drunk makes him feel, and he hates feeling. 

“Don’t be, hyung,” Chan whispers and then smiles, it’s not fitting, the way his eyes are not smiling with him, it’s just not fitting. 

“I’m sorry I made you share that,” Minho says, he’s not used to saying sorry but he feels like he has too, even though he likes when Chan opens up, he’s still a stranger, and he feels like he has no right to hear that. 

“No… It’s really okay, I feel less heavy now,” Chan whispers softly, “I don’t talk about it a lot and that baggage becomes way too heavy,” 

“Then, I’m glad you did,” Minho says and then smiles, Chan looks back at him and his eyes shine like diamonds, just like the ones Minho’s best friend likes to wear. He does that face again, smiling with his mouth closed and with soft eyes, he’s gentle, way more gentle than everyone Minho has ever known. 

They keep quiet for a moment, Minho gives his cigarette another push and then looks up to the dark sky. He likes it at night, how the breeze is just different and how the city lights make the darkness shine, he misses seeing stars though. Even though the city lights mimic that brightness, Minho likes to see the stars shining over his head, there’s this hope on seeing that it doesn’t matter what happens, they’ll never change. Minho hates changing, he hates moving out, he hates to change the spots of his paintings on his wall, he hates changing companies and he hates changing who he is. Maybe that’s why he likes fashion so much, the only thing he enjoys changing is clothing and style. 

“Minho ,” Chan whispers, Minho looks at him staring at his shiny eyes. 

“What?” He asks.

“Would you stay tonight?” Chan asks shyly, and Minho thinks about it, he never stays. He knows that Chan is not asking for his body, but for his company. 

Minho likes being alone, be he can’t stand the thought of staying alone at his room that night, so he only whispers, “Yes,” 

[...] 

Minho wakes up the sunlight hitting his eyes, he complains quietly and then opens one of his eyes, putting his hand up covering the light. He sits on the wide bed, there are no marks of someone there, Minho slept at that bed alone, he looks around trying to remember where he is, his head hurts a little. He looks at the couch and sees a blanket and a pillow, and then he sees the blazer over a chair, he knows where he is. Quickly, his head brings back the memories of the black haired boy he met the other night, Bang Chan. He’s laying on Chan’s bed. 

He’s fully clothed and the room smells like Chan’s perfume, he looks over the table close to the bed and sees his phone, his wallet and his cigarettes. Minho is quick to get up and walk quietly around the room, he tries to be as silent as possible, packing his things and throwing them inside his pockets. He thinks he’s ready, but he’s about to step a little forward he listens to a voice behind his back. 

“What are you doing?” Chan asks and then giggles, Minho got caught. He looks over his shoulder and sees Chan getting out of the bathroom, hair perfectly arranged and wearing a brand new suit. 

“Packing my stuff?” Minho says in a questioning tone, Chan stops smiling and then smiles again.

“Oh, right, of course,” He says with a little of despair, Minho smiles nervously, “You have to leave, right?” Chan asks and Minho blinks quickly.

“Uh, yeah I do,” Minho says uncomfortable, now that’s awkward, he has never been caught leaving before and he’s not pretty sure what to do, his head hurts a lot. 

“It’s okay,” Chan says smiling, he moves a little forward, getting closer to Minho but yet distant, “Minho … Can I… Please, get your number?” Chan asks a little unsure and Minho is not sure what to do. He decides to give it after a few seconds, it’s under his control, he’s giving the number but that doesn’t mean he’s going to answer his texts. 

“Yeah, of course,” He says and then says it out loud, Chan is writing on his phone, and when he finishes he nods. 

“Done!” Chan says happy and Minho almost feels bad, “You can go now if you need to,” Chan sounds unsure like he wants Minho to say that he’ll stay. 

“Okay! I’m going,” Minho says smiling forcefully and Chan waves at him, he doesn’t look pleased.

“Bye,” Chan says, in forced happiness, he’s smiling but his eyes aren’t. 

“Bye,” Minho says before leaving.


	2. The habits of my heart (I can’t say no)

Changbin is pissed about something, he’s complaining loudly just how he does every time something goes wrong, all three of them, Minho himself, Changbin and Seungmin are professionals at whining, especially between themselves. Minho can’t pay attention at all, his brain is extremely far away that day.

“Minho, seriously are you paying attention?” Changbin asks annoyed and Minho blinks slowly, finally paying attention to Changbin.

“Honestly, No,” Minho says, they don’t lie to each other they never did, even when the lie could save them from a fight, “I’m sorry about that,” Minho says sincerely and Changbin sighs. 

“Alright, what happened?” Changbin asks, annoyed still but worried. Minho always pays attention, even when he doesn’t want to so he gets why Changbin might be worried. 

“Don’t worry, Bin... It’s okay, what were you saying?” Minho says, crossing his legs and touching his hair. Changbin looks at him with a disgusted face.

“You know I can smell when you’re lying right? I’m smelling your lie,” Changbin inhales dramatically holding his nose right after it and Minho can’t help but chuckle.

“Why am I friends with you, again?” Minho says with a mean tone, and Changbin ignores him holding his nose even tighter, “Stop, fucking dumbass,” Minho giggles slapping his arm and Changbin smiles, letting his nose go.

“Tell me, bitch,” Changbin says looking at him with his eyebrows raised and a serious face, he looks completely ridiculous. 

“You remember my last trip, right?” Minho asks and Changbin hums, opening his pack of cigarettes and leaning back on his chair, they’re at Minho’s apartment on his balcony, in Gangnam. 

“The one you got super bitter when I asked about?” Changbin says looking at Minho with a cynical tone and Minho rolls his eyes.

“If you’re gonna cry about that I won’t tell you shit,” Minho says looking at him with an annoyed tone and Changbin raises his hands in the air.

“Okay, I never said that,” Changbin says with his hands in the air, Minho slaps him again and he pulls his hands down again and then grabbing his cigarette and putting it between his lips. 

“I was bitter because I met someone… No one important,” Minho tries on lying and Changbin laughs.

“I smell you, Minho, don’t try me,” Changbin says lightening his cigarette and then putting the lighter over the table, “If it’s not important, there’s no reason to be bitter then, Bitch,” 

“Alright… Something weird happened… I slept over,” Minho says a little bit stiff, even embarrassed and Changbin looks confused.

“So, you fucked someone? What about it? We do that all the time,” Changbin sounds extremely confused and Minho takes a long breath and then proceeds to take a cigarette, he needs a little help to skip up, for a moment he feels like a drink. 

“That’s the problem, Bin, I didn’t,” Minho says lightening his cigarette, he takes a little smoke and Changbin looks even more confused now.

“What?” Changbin asks, his eyebrows are raised and he has one hand on his sharp chin. Minho runs his hand through his hair nervously.

“We talked for hours…” Minho says in a low tone, gulping in the middle and taking a puff of his cigarette, “And I slept on his bed alone,” 

“You stayed?” Changbin asks in pure shook and chokes on the smoke, Changbin looks at him worried, “Calm down, honey,”

“I did,” Minho says and then chuckles, looking away to the building outside the balcony, Changbin presses his eyebrows together and then takes a little while to answer.

Minho is still looking away, he’s anxious and nervous and even embarrassed about everything, he has not stopped thinking about that night for days since he arrived home to that day. Chan has sent him a text the day before, and Minho didn’t answer, he just couldn’t, he has never answered someone, why should he answer Chan? He shouldn’t, but he kind of wanted to. He hates the fact that he wanted to so at all, it annoys him deeply, everything about that meeting annoys him. Sometimes, he gets a little memory of what they talked about and suddenly a feeling of pure agony runs through his body. 

“Minho, that’s weird I must admit, I know you for years and that never happened,” Changbin says, in a soft tone, trying to calm Minho down, “But… I know that you’re thinking that this is bad, it’s not,” 

“Of course, it is Changbin,” Minho says annoyed and Changbin sighs.

“Minho, talking to him was nice?” Changbin asks softly and Minho takes another puff of his cigarette and then taping the ashes softly inside a cup.

“Yes,” Minho answers quietly and Changbin smiles, Minho looks away when he does that.

“Then it’s not bad at all,” Changbin says sincerely, “You always tell me to stop thinking that good things are bad, right?” Changbin asks and Minho hums, “Then, think that way too,” 

“It’s way more complicated than that,” Minho says in a serious tone, he runs his hand through his hair once again, Changbin stares at him, he can see that Changbin is about to punch him.

“It’s not, it’s just talking, it’s just something good,” Changbin tries again and Minho sighs, smoking his cigarette in silence.

Minho’s brain runs quickly, he kept thinking about all the bad things that could happen if he ever talked to Chan again, he thinks about how his personality is pleasing and how he talks cutely. He’s so dangerous, Minho is not scared of many things, but if there’s something that terrifies him is to think that he liked being with someone that isn’t his best friends.

“Changbin, the last time I let someone in you know what happened,” Minho whispers and Changbin look at him his eyes get a little sadder, Minho doesn’t like how they seem like pity. 

“Minho,” Changbin says softly, he sounds so pitiful, Minho hates it, he hates it so, so much, “Not everyone is Jisung,” He says and Minho flinches hearing that name. 

Jisung is Minho’s weak spot. Minho hates being weak, sounding weak, feeling weak, there’s something about the weakness that stresses him out, he has learned that it’s one of the biggest sins in a human. And Jisung made him weak, he was weak for his smile, his words, his cuteness, his touch. So weak that his heart used to fail a beat every time he saw him, Minho hates remembering that. He hates imagining himself in that situation, he hates thinking about the boy that stole his doll heart. The one and only who were capable of such a thing.

Sometimes he’s haunted by the way he used to feel, the way he sometimes still feels. How his mind was intoxicated with his love for him. Jisung was just like a drug, a momentum spark of joy that gets you addicted, that leaves you wanting more and more. He remembers the day he met Jisung, just like Chan, he wasn’t someone Minho wanted to spend a meaningless night with. Jisung talked like he was the king, and Minho didn’t care about losing his crown. He gave it away, he handled his crown with majesty, and Jisung, accepted. 

Those nights, where Minho sat on Jisung’s fancy floor and pictured themselves living together forever. Those nights where Jisung sang him songs softly and held his cheeks kindly. Minho feels those days haunting him, following him on the streets, waiting for him in a black corner, ready to catch him and consume every piece of his being. Jisung was everything he could see, but he wasn’t the only one under his gaze. 

Minho has a habit, he’s a homewrecker. Laying on the spot Jisung’s boyfriend did make him happy and insecure, kissing the lips stained by someone’s else’s lips were one of the bits of his drug. He fell like a leaf falls of a tree in autumn, slowly and deeply until he felt the coldness of the ground underneath his feet. He should’ve known he wasn’t the first choice, it was right in front of his face, but he was blinded by the way Jisung looked at him. Hitting the hard ground was painful, the worst pain he has ever felt, the pain that made him promise to himself to never let himself fall again. That made him promise that no one would never make him cry again. 

Minho hates crying, he has cried a few times in his life, times which he regrets deeply. He’s way too pretty to cry, his eye makeup is way too pretty to be ruined, his mascara is way too expensive to be wasted by tears. His doll heart is closed with a hundred keys and he has thrown them all away, in spots, no one ever can find. Not even himself. The thought of someone finding it it’s terrifying. 

Not that he really thinks Chan can find them, but he doesn’t want to give him any chance of doing it. Chan’s heart in the other hand, seems to be open, a hundred times more open than he is about everything else, and even though Minho likes breaking things, he’s not into breaking hearts. 

“I know he’s not Jisung” Minho says, playing with his fingers, feeling the coldness of his rings.

“Then, what is it?” Changbin asks quickly, losing his patience a little, normally Minho would get bitter over Changbin’s lack of patience, but he’s way more annoyed with other things.

“It’s because…” Minho whispers, his words go out in a weird way like his throat is sore, he takes a long breath, “I, just, don’t want to be the old Minho,” Minho says and then chuckles in despair, he wants so badly to get up and run away. Run away from that conversation and from everything he’s feeling. 

“But, you’re not, you’ve grown,” Changbin says, normal tone, definitely not impatiently anymore, Minho can hear with his words how all of this make him sad. Changbin has always been like that, he’s so worried about everyone, and sometimes sad things hurt more in him than in the actual person. “Minho, if you don’t want to go back, give new Minho a chance to live,” Changbin says, reaching Minho’s hands with his. 

Changbin can smell his lies but he can’t smell the thing he’s omitting. The ring, the silver cold ring on Chan’s hand. 

“Please, I just… How can I do this?” Minho says, he’s feeling awkward, he’s always the one giving advice not receiving, especially from Changbin. 

“Answer his texts,” Changbin says, very slowly.

“How do you know he’s texting me?” Minho says, surprised. 

“Been there before,” Changbin giggles.

Changbin leaves almost at midnight, they’ve spent the whole day together, watching dance moms and talking shit about people in the industry. It was weird without Seungmin, but since he is filming the new drama he’s going to be in, he has been away for a while, leaving Minho and Changbin alone. It’s fun, but not as fun as it could be. 

Minho is laying in the bed, alone. His phone is over his stomach and Minho stares at it, he just can’t find the courage to even touch it. He inhales deeply and reaches the phone, quickly giving up and laying his hand back in the bed. Minho moves in the bed anxiously, the phone drops on his side and the scream lights up, Minho stares at it, it’s 1:30 AM, his lock screen is a picture of him with Seungmin and Changbin, at a fashion show. Minho closes his eyes and reaches to the phone again, he keeps holding it for a minute, before opening his eyes, he stares at the screen again and unlocks the phone. The messages icon is there, there are about 90 notifications, he hasn’t been able to open them because he didn’t want to see Chan’s message there. He thinks about Changbin’s advice, should he follow it? He’s not even a little sure.

Minho focuses on the thought that he’s only going to be friends with Chan, only that. He’s a nice dude to have a conversation with, he promises to himself about 10 times that they’re only going to be friends before opening the messages app. Minho scrolls down, thinking about how he could’ve given him a random number and not his own, but it’s way too late to go back. He finds the text, the one he received a few minutes after leaving Chan’s room, he remembers being in the elevator and turning his phone off, too scared to even stare at the notification. “Hey, It’s Chan” pops up, he seems excited in the text, just like he acts in real life, and Minho regrets opening it, he feels terrible. Normally, he wouldn’t care about the angst texts and phone calls he gets from his one night stands, but for some reason, seeing Chan’s text gives him an itching agony. 

Minho types “Hey” and then he presses the delete button and he goes back to nothing. He stares at the letters and then stares at Chan’s text again, he takes a long breath and types “Hey” again, he closes his eyes shut and sends it. The sound of the message being sent hurts his stomach, he feels weirdly nauseous, so nauseous that he sits down in the middle of the bed, locking his phone again and trying to breathe properly. A minute passes and Minho gets surprised by the sound of a notification, he runs his hand through his hair quickly, trying to put his shit together and then reaches to the phone. 

Unknown Number:  
I thought you were never going to answer. 

Minho reads it with that agony getting even stronger, he’s so anxious it’s probably killing him. He takes a little minute to answer back.

Minho:  
I wasn’t going…

Unknown Number:  
Glad you did then

Unknown Number:  
Are you in Seoul? 

Minho:  
Yes

Unknown Number:  
Can I see you again? 

Minho gets up and leaves to the bathroom, his phone is in his pocket. He stops in front of the mirror and stares at himself, he looks terrible, so terrible is laughable. He opens the sink and uses his hands to throw water at his face, he washes his face aggressively, then looks at the mirror again. Minho stares at himself for a full minute and then reaches to his phone.

Minho:  
Four Seasons hotel.

Minho had to take another way out, Dispatch is digging his grave, it’s fucking annoying being scared of leaving his own building, but sadly it’s his reality. For a person that values his privacy sometimes being famous is annoying. He arrives at the four seasons hotel at 2:30, Chan didn’t mind the hurry actually he didn’t even ask, Chan quickly agreed. 

It’s cold and Minho is as always way too underdressed to be outside. He enters the lobby and goes straight to the bar, he waits for Chan at door, holding his own body, hugging himself since he feels so cold. Minho flinches feeling a coat being thrown over his shoulder, Minho looks over his shoulder ready to punch whoever did that, but he only sees Chan right behind him. Quickly Chan’s smell who is in the coat goes straight to Minho’s nostrils.

“For a model, you’re lacking warm clothing,” Chan jokes, standing right in the side of Minho, who adjusts the coat over his body.

“My body is way too pretty to be hidden underneath clothes,” Minho jokes and Chan smiles at him, he hasn’t changed even a little, and Minho doesn’t know why he thought that he would.

“Oh, that’s most certainly Minho,” Chan says, excited and Minho smirks at him. Chan has his hair up but is very messy, maybe because he didn’t have much time to arrange it.

“Why? You’re here for another Minho?” Minho says and Chan laughs, running his hand through his messy hair.

“Nope, I’ve just found mine,” Chan says, he sounds so good when he flirts, Minho hates it. They’re only going to be friends, that’s all, he should sound terrible flirting, that’s not fair. Minho wishes that his good memories of Chan were drunk lies he told himself. Talking about being drunk, Minho needs a drink.

“You got a room?” Minho asks and then regrets it, it’s safer for friends to be around other people than alone. But as always, it's late to go back. 

“Yep, and a good, very good balcony,” Chan says and Minho laughs at him. He sounds so adorable, it’s annoying. 

“Oh, perfect,” Minho says holding his smile back, it’s nice, Chan makes Minho comfortable, which is also terrifying. Chan moves forward to the elevator and Minho follows him, quietly. Without thinking he pulls the coat closer to his body, shoving his face on it. But soon as he realizes what he did, Minho takes his face out of the coat and cleans his throat. 

Chan looks back and Minho just noods telling him to keep going. Chan holds the door of the elevator to Minho who giggles because that’s the cheesiest thing ever. Minho enters the elevator and Chan presses the last button, Minho understood what he meant by the great balcony, they’re in the top room. Minho doesn't know how Chan got that room with so little time, but he’s excited to see it.

It’s even fancier than the other one Chan was staying in their first time meeting each other, it even smells fancy. Minho is used to fancy places so he feels kind of home, it’s weird, if it was someone else, that person would find the room way too cold, but for Minho, it’s just perfect. Maybe it’s a little bit narcissistic of him to feel like he’s just getting what he deserves, but he doesn’t care at all. 

“Indeed, a very nice balcony,” Minho says, a little way too flirty, he closes his eyes and curses at himself, it’s so hard for him to not follow his nature. Flirting is his favorite thing, he gets pleasure out of that. 

“I knew you would like it…” Chan says, flirting back and Minho once again curses at himself, how can such a smart person be so dumb. 

“You’re trying to spoil me, Chan?” Minho really can’t help himself, everything that goes out of his mouth just has to be flirty and sharp. He tells himself that he flirts with Changbin and Seungmin too, - in which, he does - to normalize his bullshit. 

“Only the best for you, Hyung,” Fuck, Minho had forgotten about the whole “hyung” situation and he likes it, so once again, he’s in the losing team. 

“Cheesy,” Minho jokes and Chan giggles at him, taking off his blazer, Minho stares at it way too long. Chan snaps his fingers and Minho gets his shit together, looking at him. 

“Do you want some whiskey?” Chan asks and Minho instantly nods, “I knew it,” Chan says and Minho smirks, Chan has a smart mouth, he’s quick and he’s way too good on remembering things. 

Minho walks around, looking at the details around him, the hotel room is very white, the couch, the walls, the floor, the jasmines on the table. But at the same time, there’s a lot of red and black stuff too, it looks like somewhere great to do stuff that he’s not allowed to do. Minho takes a long breath trying to throw those thoughts away, he goes straight to the huge white couch in the middle of the room and sits down. There’s a saying that goes like “Gays can’t sit straight” and that’s true, Minho takes off his shoes easily and then sits with his legs underneath his body, making himself comfortable. 

Chan walks towards him, holding two glasses of whiskey and Minho reaches to his before Chan sits by his side. He’s very close, and Minho rearranges his body a little, creating a little but comfortable space between them. Chan stares at him funny and then takes a sip of his drink. 

“I don’t bite, only if you ask,” Slick son of a bitch, Minho thinks, he has forgotten also how Chan is slick, how he is a challenge. It’s once again, something that annoys him, they’re going to be friends, and that’s all. 

“Quoting me, uh? Good move,” Minho says ironically and Chan only smirks, taking another sip. Minho takes the chance to also drink a little, well, a lot, he needs to get drunk or else, that’s going to be painful. 

“Thirsty?” Chan asks, a little bit surprised by how quick Minho drank that whiskey. Chan is looking pretty and Minho hates that so much.

“Very,” Minho says with a tone he shouldn’t be using with someone he just wants to be friends with, Chan catches it so beautifully it’s annoying. 

Chan moves his veiny hands towards his shirt and Minho watches it, without even noticing. Chan opens three buttons, and Minho suddenly panics, almost choking. He’s very focused on Chan’s pale skin leaking through the little gap, so focused it’s alarming. The skin looks soft and pretty, and Minho can see how defined his chest is, also, he gets extremely surprised by the drawings on Chan’s chest, he wasn’t expecting him to have tattoos, but a little flower can be seen by the gap. 

“Yes, my whole chest is tattooed,” Chan says giggling, he’s embarrassed, his laugh sounds a little more high pitched when he gets embarrassed, normally, Chan can’t hide any kind of emotion, he’s very expressive. Thankfully, he takes Minho’s stare as shock and not pure thirst, he is shocked though, but not as much as he’s being thirsty over Chan’s chest. 

“I wasn’t expecting that at all, but it’s a very nice surprise,” Minho says still staring at Chan’s chest, that’s definitely going to be distracting for Minho’s plans, a hot distraction but unacceptable, “Are you hot?” Minho asks, trying to discover the reason for Chan’s tease.

“What?” Chan says confused and then looks down, figuring it out, “Oh… Not at all, it’s just because it’s uncomfortable buttoned all up,” Chan says casually and then smirks, “I like to be choked but not by shirts,” He says, teasingly. 

Minho almost sighs nervously. Chan teasing him isn’t a thing that scares him and makes him nervous in a general view, he’s okay with flirting, he is literally the flirtiest person he knows, but he’s just incapable of doing it with Chan right now. Chan is dangerous, not as a person, he’s gentle and kind and that’s also the reason he’s dangerous to Minho. Minho hates how attracted he is to kindness, maybe because he feels like he needs it to give him some harmony. Chan for some reason takes Minho out of his comfort zone because he makes Minho happy, and that’s not something Minho relies on. 

“You’re such a whore, now… My impact was pretty strong, uh?” Minho plays with him, Chan giggles cutely at being called a whore. It’s fucking adorable, sadly. 

“Are you happy, Minho? You see what you’ve created?” Chan jokes back and Minho smirks at him, he can’t help to think about the fact that he has missed Chan. It’s weird, it’s not something that was bothering him until he saw him again. 

When he saw the messages or answered them, it was pretty okay, he only felt bad at ignoring him, since Chan was such a nice man. When Minho arrived at the hotel, he was only anxious because he felt weird about seeing someone again, not because of seeing Chan. Everything felt extremely normal, until Chan’s perfume got to Minho’s nose, in that exact moment, that feeling, that weird feeling hit him like a wave. He missed him, he doesn’t know in which level, but he knows he did. It’s okay though, he misses his friends. 

“At least you’re more open now… I can’t help but be proud of you,” Minho says sincerely and Chan smiles brightly at Minho. There's something very pure about the way Chan smiles, he is in fact always smiling. 

“I'm proud of me too,” Chan says happily, he looks deeply inside Minho’s eyes, his eyes shine, he has that puppy sparkle that Minho enjoys way too much, “Thank you for that, Minho,” he sounds soft and sincere.

“You don't have to say thank you,” Minho says holding his smile back, he's attracted to Chan’s oddly pureness and to his manners, maybe because Minho is not even a little pure, but he’s not sure of it. But it seems like a pattern, being attracted to all the things he’s lacking. 

“I do, I feel free when I'm with you and that means the world to me,” Chan speaks softly and slowly to showcase his sincerity, Minho finally lets his smile get out, “You look like a whole different person when you smile, did you know that?” Chan asks.

“I don't smile often, maybe that's why,” Minho says with a quick giggle. People don't pay that much attention at those things, there are things that are more important to notice, like the way he's photographing, the way he's dressed and how his body is pretty. But Chan seems to notice different stuff, the only time he has ever talked about Minho’s fashion was when he realized that he was way too undressed.

“Nope, you smile a lot actually, at least around me,” Chan isn't lying, he does, for some reason he does a lot, he's more relaxed around the older man, Chan gives people motivation to smile, in a weird way, “It's just that you have this expression, which is very strong, kind of cold… I don't know how to explain it, but when you smile it’s so warm,” Chan says, slowly.

“I've never noticed that… I don't think people do, too,” Minho says, thinking about his own smile. He normally wouldn't think about it, he doesn't like to smile in pictures, he is even sure that he never did. Chan is always smiling, bright teeth and cute dimples, Minho’s teeth are small and he doesn't have any kind of little special detail. 

“You should, you look pretty smiling,” Chan says and Minho likes the compliment because he never thought his smile was pretty or important to capture, maybe because it's way too human and as a model, that's not something that normally gets clicked on. 

“Your smile is pretty too,” Minho says without realizing, it was just that he hasn't thought about before saying. Chan smiles at him and he does regret a little, saying something so nice, but Chan looks so happy.

“Wow, thank you,” He says in a happy tone and Minho feels strange, it's definitely not something of his nature to compliment people. 

“Okay,” Minho says, a little trapped, he doesn't know how to answer that since it's something so unexpected, Chan giggles and Minho looks at him funny.

“You're such a tsundere,” Chan jokes and Minho slaps his arm pissed off. Chan stares at him with that face, he missed that too, the shiny eyes and his cute closed mouth, Minho still doesn't understand what he means with that face but it’s so soft. 

“I'm not,” Minho says and Chan laughs.

“Of course you are, it's cute though,” Chan compliments him again, once again other little things that people don't say, that people don't notice, even Minho. He is cute, cute in a pretty way, not the actual meaning 

“You're very odd,” Minho says a little weirded out, and Chan smiles. It's weird how Minho feels a little embarrassed even awkward. Chan is unusual and for the first time the spell comes back, Minho was the one taking Chan out of his comfort zone before and now, he's getting his revenge.

“I can't believe, I've found your weakness,” Chan jokes and Minho stares at him.

“I don't have one,” Minho answers sharply and Chan gets scared, Minho feels bad about being so defensive right before that moment, but he hates weaknesses. That's the only thing he's sure he's not is weak.

“I'm sorry, Minho,” Chan says quietly, he looks like a lost puppy and Minho feels his body getting hit with his regret. Chan looks like he's about to cry, head down and very concerned face.

“Shall we smoke?” Minho says calmly changing the subject and Chan only nods agreeing without asking anything. 

Minho gets up taking the pack out of his pocket and Chan follows him quietly, Minho feels so bad that it's even kind of awkward to walk. Chan looks like a lost puppy following someone home, he walks carefully and slowly. Minho opens the huge doors and the wind gets inside, the balcony is huge with two tables which side with 4 chairs each. Minho chooses the one in the right and walks towards the table taking a seat in one of them. Chan sits on the one right next to him. 

Minho takes one cigarette out of the pack placing it between his lips and then takes another one handling it to Chan who picks it up, “I feel bad giving you cigarettes it feels like I'm your bad boy crush,” Minho jokes and Chan laughs with his cigarette between his plump lips, Minho lights his own and gives Chan the lighter. 

“That’s because you’re,” Chan jokes back and Minho giggles, smoking his cigarette.

“Am I your crush?” Minho asks smirking and Chan lets out a shy laugh, Minho is completely fucked, so fucked, Chan is fucking him up in a way he never thought he would.

“Well… I can't deny or agree with that either,” Chan says shyly, looking way and smoking his cigarette, Minho feels like laughing, not because it's funny, it's literally the least funny thing ever, he wants to laugh because he's trapped and nervous. 

“Chan,” Minho says quietly and Chan stares back at him humming an “uh”, Minho takes a long breath and looks straight into Chan’s eyes, “You make it so hard for me to be only your friend,” 

“Then be more than that,” Chan says confidently and Minho lets out a little nervous chuckle, he has never been so nervous before, Chan messes with his mind. He hates it so much, his mind is stronger than that, he’s sure that he’s stronger than that, and feeling so weak and human terrifies him, he is at a stage of pure panic.

“I can't,” Minho says letting the panic be clear in his tone, he smokes his cigarette closing his eyes and hoping that the nicotine makes him feel calmer. It doesn't work, but he keeps his eyes closed. 

“Why?” Chan asks and Minho only smokes his cigarette again, struggling to find words, he's a very quick thinker, he always has an answer on the tip of his tongue, fully ready. But for some reason he forgets how to talk. 

After some minutes, he sighs and opens his eyes, staring at the ring and then staring at Chan who is looking at him with his pretty shiny eyes, “I just can't,” He says and Chan looks deeply at his eyes.

Minho has no time to react, as soon as he realizes Chan’s plump lips are touching his. They’re warm and soft, just like Minho always pictured, Minho uses his free hand to touch Chan’s chest, he wants to push him away he holds Chan’s shirt and shut his eyes forecefuly. Minho can't help himself, he's already regretting even before doing anything, but he corresponds. Minho bends his head to the side, holding Chan’s shirt even tighter and opens his mouth, Chan quickly takes the message, opening his lips too. Chan moves his lips and Minho melts into the kiss, kissing Chan slowly and sweetly. His kisses are always rough and fast, but he's way too overwhelmed with the feeling Chan’s soft lips on his. Minho sighs into the kiss when he smells Chan’s perfume that's even more strong since he's so close, Chan’s lips make Minho warm and for a moment the weather seems like summer. He feels calm and for a single moment that doesn't feel wrong, Chan’s touch feels so right. 

Minho drops his cigarette on the floor making his other hand free and then proceeds to touch Chan’s neck pulling him closer. Chan probably drops his too because both of his hands travel inside his coat that Minho is wearing, holding Minho’s waist. The touch sends shivers down Minho’s spine. Chan breaks the kiss for a second and Minho doesn't opens his eyes. Chan moves his hands to the bottom of Minho’s back and picks him up, Minho opens his eyes and curls both of his arms around Chan’s neck who easily puts Minho over his lap. Minho adjusts himself touching Chan’s chest with his, they’re so fucking close. Minho looks down to Chan’s face which is shining over the lights and then proceeds to kiss him again, in a more fast way. Chan puts his arms around Minho’s torso holding him closer to his body, he's so warm, touching Chan is like touching fire. 

Chan’s is the warmest person Minho has ever touched, his skin is soft and his arms are strong. Minho feels safe being held by Chan, safer than he has ever been, as dangerous as he is to Minho, being with him is like staying at home in a cold day, underneath the soft blankets. Chan’s heart beats so fast that Minho can feel it on his chest, it's weird how his body is reacting to Minho, he is sitting on his lap and the only thing that is happening is that his heartbeat is fast like he just ran a marathon.

They break the kiss to breathe, Minho is breathless and so is Chan, Minho has his eyes closed and his nose and his forehead are touching Chan’s. Everything is silent, the only sound heard is their breaths dancing around and the subtle sound of Chan’s heart. Chan moves his head down and kisses Minho’s neck sweetly, Minho bends his head to the side giving Chan more access to his neck, Chan’s kisses are sweet and subtle like a small pet, it's so nice, and weirdly not sexual at all. It's pure and lovely, different than everything Minho has experienced before. 

It’s weird how new everything feels with Chan, the touches, the kisses, the talking and the laughs, the little details that only Chan notices. Minho is scared of the new, his new feelings are not something he’s used to deal with, Minho doesn’t like changes or unexpected situations but everything with Chan feels like knowing a mindblowing new fact or visiting a totally different country. 

Chan stops kissing Minho’s neck and Minho almost complains, but he doesn’t say anything. Chan lays his head on Minho’s shoulder and holds him even closer giving him a hug, Minho is not into hugs but Chan's hair - which is touching his cheek - is so soft that he kinda likes the feeling. 

“I’ve missed you,” Chan whispers on Minho’s shoulder and the younger just lays his head more closely to Chan’s head, incapable of saying anything even though he has missed Chan too. He’s never going to admit that or say it out loud. 

Chan takes his head out of Minho’s shoulder to look at his face, he has that expression that Minho always realized but never understood. He still hasn’t discovered what that means, and he’s scared to know, “We’re wasting cigarettes,” Chan says giggling and Minho smiles at him. 

“We really are, I was going to complain that they’re expensive but they’re actually not expensive at all to us,” Minho says and Chan nods smiling. 

“I haven’t asked before kissing you and I’m glad you kissed me back… I was sure you wasn’t going to,” Chan says nervously and Minho lets out a little giggle.

“I wasn’t going to,” Minho says sincerely and Chan humms an “Oh”, looking at Minho with a little down expression.

“Why have you done it, then?” Chan asks quietly and Minho shakes his head to take his hair out of his eyes.

“Because I wanted to,” Minho says and Chan looks confused, “I’m a rule breaker, so sometimes I break my own rules,” Chan smiles at him, his eyes shine so brightly when he smiles.

“My bad boy crush,” Chan says and Minho smiles, looking at Chan’s face which is very, very close to his. He’s even more handsome up close, it’s annoying, he wasn’t supposed to be that beautiful, it’s so hard to say no to such a pretty face. 

Minho sighs at the fact that Chan is that pretty, it’s just amazing how straight his teeth are and how bright they are, his laugh is cute and he looks fucking adorable with his eyes half-closed. They’ve just kissed for the first and yet the last time, he’s such a good kisser which is also annoying, the little shaved hairs of his mustache rubbing against Minho’s lips felt way too good. Minho hates that he’s gotten so addicted to it, even though it just happened and so quickly. It’s like tasting heroin for the first time - even though that’s not a very good comparison - one shot and you’re down, it doesn’t work for everyone, a lot of people get away, but Minho’s organism wasn’t ready to take that and deny it. 

Minho finds himself confused and scared, confused since it has been such a long time that he hasn’t felt that way and, scared for the same reason. And even worse, he’s scared because he knows that he’s heading to the same path he did back in the day with Jisung, wanting someone he cannot have, someone who belongs to someone else. He doesn’t think that he’s loving Chan or something like that, but he knows that something is, in fact, happening and he doesn’t like it. Unlike Jisung though, Chan has never said anything about the his ring, or about the person that the other piece belongs, Minho doesn’t know if it’s for better or for worse, since it would piss him off to hear about his fiancée, at the same time, he feels like Chan is not being fully honest. Minho is, once again, stuck in a wicked game. 

Minho is still on Chan’s lap when he sighs so deeply Chan gets startled. He knows he has to say it, he has to ask. He doesn’t want to, Minho wants to pretend the ring isn’t there, he wants to pretend he’s dreaming, with a boy he will never see again when he wakes up. Something his mind made up to make up for his loneliness, something he’s going to forget about some hours. But Chan is real, he’s there, Minho smells him. Feels the warmth of his big body against his, consuming him, making him feel good. He doesn’t like it though, it brings him too many memories.

“Chan,” Minho whispers, Chan looks deep down into his eyes, like he’s reading his soul. Chan hums, telling Minho to keep going, “What’s the meaning of your ring?” Now it’s the time to see if he’s going to lie or not, maybe he will. Minho hopes he doesn’t.

“Minho…” Chan whispers back, Minho doesn’t need to hear his response, that tone, that whisper, it tells, tell things Minho doesn’t want to hear but needs to, things he can’t take, “I would never lie to you,” Chan starts and Minho cuts.

“You omitted,” Minho says sharp as a knife, and Chan sighs, closing his eyes, his lips are red, more red than normal and that only proves Minho that they were kissing. 

“I know,” Chan whispers even more quietly, Minho wants to sigh, he doesn’t, he only bites his lips, “Sometimes I just want to pretend I don’t have it,” Minho wants to pretend too, he’s wants it so much, but that’s something he can’t do. Not again. 

“You can’t do that,” Minho says, and Chan bites his lips too.

“Yeah, I can’t,” He sounds like he’s about to cry, it’s kind of heartbreaking, Minho doesn’t want to see Chan cry, never. Still, he has the feeling, an agonizing feeling that he’s going to see it at some point. He has to disappear before he sees Chan’s small and shiny eyes get filled with tears.

“I’m not going to say I didn’t know,” Minho says, finally letting out a sigh, Chan’s eyes are sadder and Minho despises that look, he doesn’t want to see it, “I just don’t know why you didn’t tell me,”

“Because I want you,” Chan says, a tone of despair is very clear, a tone of complete despair, even fear. It goes inside Minho’s ears, then to his brain, and finally it hits his heart, like a punch. 

“You shouldn't,” Minho says, he doesn’t want to sound so pissed, so sharp, so rough. It has to be though, he needs to be as rough as he can, or else, he can’t stop those things from happening. It’s out of touch already, way out of his controlling nature. 

“I know, Minho, I know,” Chan takes a long breath, “I need another cigarette,” He says, and Minho nods. He’s not amused by the talking, not at all, still he doesn’t deny cigarettes. Minho reaches for his pack, taking his arms away from Chan's shoulders. Chan is quick at lighting his cigarette.

“Who is it?” Minho asks, then takes a cigarette to himself. Minho doesn’t leave Chan’s lap, he’s going to enjoy just for a little bit longer. Chan is warm and his days are so cold.

“One of my dad’s business partners has a daughter,” He says, he’s avoiding Minho’s eyes, but Minho keeps staring at him, which looks more uncomfortable than ever. Minho likes seeing Chan uncomfortable, just not like that. 

“Oh, so it’s a girl?” Minho asks and Chan hums, he did look like a het’ when Minho saw him for the first time. He doesn’t know which part makes him more sad, that he’s engaged or that he’s engaged to a girl. He’s far from tired of being the gay awakening’ and that does happen a lot. He doesn’t care much, because most of them are one night stands, but Minho is sure he’s way pretty to be a dirty little secret.

“Yes, it is,” Chan says, he seems to hate saying that, Minho doesn’t like it, “We live in korea, no businessman has a boyfriend,” Chan laughs, not like it’s a funny connotation, there’s some kind of pain in that statement, Minho feels pity. Not that he’s someone who often feels like that about people, pity is low, it’s a feeling he despises. Yet, at that moment is sadly fitting.

“Do you love her?” Minho regrets after asking, Chan finally decided to look at him, eyes shining, not because of tears or good feelings. He doesn’t know why. Minho didn’t mean to ask him that, but he has to know. He has this urge to know, because he’s been there before, he has to ask because he remembers clearly when Jisung was leaving his apartment, his life, and sadly not his heart. I love him, he said. With no regret inside his pretty eyes, nothing. 

“No,” Chan states. It sounds very sincere, painful even. Minho doesn’t wrap his head around the strange relief he feels. It’s disgusting, feeling relief from a broken engagement, “I don’t think I ever will,” Chan finally gives Minho that gaze he didn’t want. His eyes are filled with tears. Minho feels a sudden despair fill his body, like he needs to hold Chan’s eyes and stop any tears that might come out. 

“Does she love you?” Minho asks.

“I don’t think so,” Chan answers. Minho stares deeply into Chan’s eyes. 

“I really hope she doesn’t,” Minho says, before getting up. He feels the warmth leave his body as soon as he leaves Chan’s warm embrace. It’s hard to finally feel the coldness on his silky skin. He takes off Chan’s blazer, and leaves in a chair before leaving. He feels emptiness, as soon as he leaves the room, Chan doesn't try to stop him, and he’s thankful for that. He might have stayed if Chan asked. 

When Minho is in the elevator, by himself, too scared to even look at himself in the mirror and not recognize his own face, his phone vibrates.

Unknown Number:  
Will I ever see you again?

Minho sighs.

Minho:  
I don’t think so.


	3. i’ll look for you somewhere else and then, I will end up in your bed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I keep seeking for you in places you’re not in, but that way I’ll never find you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aw shit here we go again.
> 
> some tmi about Minho that are important for this chapter, he might sound kind of hypocritical at times and thats because he is. he’s a bottled up boy that has a lot of feelings he can’t control or understand, his brain is very messy so are his thoughts. Also, he’s very drunk. 
> 
> ALSO this is literally the biggest chapter of something i’ve ever written so if i couldn’t fix any mistakes that passed unnoticed im sorry!

Every morning when Minho wakes up, he wishes he didn’t. It’s funny how his body is not reacting well lately, he has felt like that before, but it has been so long since he felt his body so numb it’s almost impossible to move. He still has gigs though, he’s professional, Minho would never miss a gig. But he became more of a pain in the ass to work with. He feels like he’s the calm sea, too busy to burst into big and violent waves, but his heart is still under water. 

He came into the conclusion he has to drink, little shots of whiskey sitting in his balcony are not helping him as much. He needs to get so drunk he will forget everything he feels, every single weak spot will get filled with alcohol, every single bit of emptiness will disappear with his sanity and logic. 

He gets ready for a hell of a night, Changbin is practicing and Seungmin is still recording his drama. Nights are not as fun when he’s not with them, he always remembers that. Still, Minho feels proud of them when they don’t go, as the older and probably the most mature there’s some guilt inside of him, that makes him think he might be some kind of bad influence to them. Changbin is extremely shy and reserved, and Minho takes blame for his lack of self control, he somewhat knows Changbin wouldn’t start going out if it wasn’t for him. And Seungmin, he’s lost case, has always been, be at some point he was just a nerdy, polite kid, with dreams of a crazy life. Minho gave him his dream, yet, taking away something that might be more important, his self-worth.

He’s scared about their paths, their futures, a crazy life does bring good things to a man, yet, it's a life of momentum joy, a life of ups and downs, with downs stronger than the ups. Minho doesn’t care much where his life is going, sometimes he thinks he rather die of young well lived days, than a long life of restriction. He became so used to his misery, to his life wrecking downs, that he feels somewhat apathetic. He goes and goes, never stopping. He likes his busy life, because there’s no time left to focus on his loss of control. 

He’s not apathetic towards Changbin and Seungmin though, even in the busiest days he often wonders about them, about how deadly, how miserable, how depressing their lives can end up being. Seungmin’s addiction to wealth, power and diamonds might put a smile on his face but he wonders for how long? He wonders about Changbin’s issues with alcohol, and the way he feels he cannot be “himself” without it. Minho sometimes thinks he might be some kind of monster, that brings everyone down with him.

With that his brain goes straight to Chan, the way that pretty man fell into his spells. How Chan smokes with him, talks about things he doesn’t feel comfortable with, the way he cheats on his fiancée and the way he deserves so much more in life, the way Minho might be his destruction. Minho sees himself as destructive as a hurricane, after he passes, even if it’s quick, a few minutes even, he will leave broken houses, broken people, and broken dreams. He knows even the slight pours of himself can bring damage. Chan doesn’t have to be one of his witnesses, one of his victims, neither does the woman who keeps the other pair of that ring. Maybe someday Chan will fall in love with her, and live a good life. Minho can’t ruin Chan’s chances to be happy. 

It’s sad to think about the way he doesn’t think he will ever be happy, and making someone happy is even more impossible. Happiness seems like such a mystical concept, a concept he will never wrap his head around since it’s so rare, he doesn’t feel it often. Maybe with his best friends, maybe he felt with Jisung and he might even feel it with Chan. But every sparkle of joy comes with a price, the price of his conscience. His conscience plays pranks on him, every time he feels happy, he thinks about the way he doesn’t deserve it.

Minho told himself years ago he didn’t deserve happiness, that he’s wicked, messy, empty. That broken people like him don’t deserve to be happy and sometimes it’s even funny, because all he wishes for people as broken like him is to lay down with happiness. His rules are always hypocritical, and sometimes he doesn’t care. 

He dreasses in a provocative way, as always. He puts on leather pants, red like blood, a crop top very tight. He wants to kiss someone, he wants to taste different lips so he doesn’t remember Chan, just for a while. He doesn’t use his own cars, people know all his plaques, he changes them constantly and still people know it, it’s so goddamn annoying.

He arrives at Itaewon, the best place to have a fun party. Of course it’s a gay club. He’s not afraid of being outed, and he doesn’t think people will get even surprised, he never tries to hide it, and maybe that’s why his ass is safe, tabloids don’t like obvious things. The lights are all red and blue, it shines inside his eyes, such pretty lighting. He goes straight to the bar, he doesn’t buy a shot, or a drink. Minho gets a full bottle of whiskey, and holds in his hands like it’s a small cup, he takes such a big sip his throat burns, and he feels it going inside him. Burning everything. He doesn’t like it as much because the taste reminds him of Chan. Now it is even more necessary to go find someone.

Minho rushes to the dance floor, he used to dance, so he’s not going to be ashamed of his body. He moves his hips like a belly dancer, and quickly adjusts to the sound of the music, he closes his eyes focusing on the sound and his body moves along, and Minho knows how intoxicating he is, and it doesn’t take long until he feels hands on his waist. Cold hands, not as soft, he doesn’t even look at the boy, he knows people don’t come to him if they’re not confident. 

Minho glues his body against the boy’s body, he’s muscular, Minho likes it. He moves his waist now more slowly, more out of beat, the boy squeezes his waist, moving his own body too. He bites his lips, his eyes closed. He tries his best to focus on that moment and only, yet the warmth and the way that body's muscles remind him of stuff he’s trying to forget. He takes another big sip of that whiskey, even dropping a little bit on his shirt and his chin, he feels dizzy already.

He decides at some point to pretend. He glues his body against the boy’s even more roughly, like he wants to morph their bodies together, and he wishes he could. If he can’t let the thoughts about Chan go, he will embrace them for a while. It’s not like he’s allowing himself to get close to Chan, it’s not like they’re together. Roleplay isn’t bad is it? He likes to think it’s not. 

He feels the muscles, the defined stomach, and pictures himself dancing freely with Chan, he imagines his warm hands holding his waist, his breath on his neck, the sexual tension and the pure attraction that pulls them together like magnets. The magnetic attraction of their bodies. He wants to feel Chan, he wants to get closer and closer to him. And that boy moving his hips along with him gave him a little taste of what they could be doing.

He closes his eyes, before turning around, he doesn’t want to see the face behind his wonders and his imagination, he keeps his eyes close to picture Chan’s hair up, his thick lips, his puppy eyes and strong eyebrows. He puts his hands around the boy’s shoulders, and leans in, the boy leans in too. He doesn’t feel the smell of Chan’s perfume, he doesn’t smell him, it kind of hurts, not being able to feel that intoxicating scent of his masculinity and beauty all over his senses. When he kisses that boy, he does it intensely, his lips are not very thick, not that warm either. Minho tries to remember how it felt like kissing Chan, how his lips burned his own and how they embraced him with pure passion.

He struggles to find that warmth, to feel that rush of adrenaline through his veins, making his body shake and shiver. He struggles to find that magnetic attraction, the electricity that passes from lips to lips, that thing he felt when Chan rushed to kiss him. 

He keeps kissing, going faster and faster in despair, in need, in desire for something more. It never comes, it never comes. Minho shuts his eyes more and the boy holds his waist even stronger, at least someone is enjoying. He’s not gentle, he’s not careful, he doesn’t keep the pace pleasing, it doesn’t work. He kisses him a little more, and tries to forget about Chan. It doesn’t work too, his mind runs with pictures of Chan, small bits of his smell, the taste of his lips, the warmth and the passion. He hates it, how his body is experiencing some kind of agony, a lingering agony that makes his heart hurt, the agony of trying to find something and failing completely. That agony that comes with anger and frustration, that makes you want to break everything like it’s going to solve the mysteries of your loss. 

Minho feels those feelings run through his body. And he breaks the kiss. He opens his eyes and stares at the boy, he is pretty, he looks very pretty, very muscular, he has straight teeth too because he smiles. He’s pretty, but not enough.

“You’re not him,” Minho whispers before taking his arms away from the boy. He moves his waist and the boy lets go. It’s not him. No one is. No one will ever be. Minho feels that agony again, but it feels a little different, because now he’s sure he won’t find it, and it doesn’t matter how much he tries, he won’t.

He walks around, bumping into some random people, he takes another 3 sips and the whiskey is almost on the half. Half empty he thinks. Minho sees things half empty, not half full. Like he sees angry faces when they’re serious, how he sees things breaking before they do, how he sees everything falling apart before it’s time. He curses at himself, thinking about the way he could have told Chan to fuck off when they talked for the first time, how he could’ve avoided that situation. He saw the ring, he noticed it before getting inside his room, before even thinking about going. 

He hates himself for ignoring that detail and going too far, way too far. He hates himself because he had control and for such a controlling person he didn’t even think of doing the right thing. Minho thinks about how he never chooses what is right, what is good, maybe it’s because something he thought about before. Not deserving happiness. Maybe his head is so sure he doesn’t deserve to find someone good, where he can be the starring role, that it goes straight to the situations that will hurt him. He’s filled with bad habits, terrible ones.

He hates that being a hurricane doesn’t affect only people around him, because he rarely cares about their destruction. But his turbulence, his rage, his waves, it drowns himself too. Minho would love to say he has someone that keeps trying to ruin him, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t have a saboteur, he has himself. His inner saboteur, that likes to ruin him. He likes to drink alcohol, smoke cigarettes, and abuse other drugs, and most of his drugs come in the shape of a man, a man with a silver ring on his finger. Minho loves to see himself run and then put his feet in front of it to make himself fall. 

He reaches the bar at some point, and he doesn’t remember how. He’s dizzy, more dizzy than he has been in months. He likes it and hates it, he likes it because there’s a big chance the memories of himself won’t hunt him when he wakes up, and hates it because he doesn’t have control of his own body. And he has such a pretty body, he should be in control. 

He looks at the bar man, and then at the red light over him. He remembers the yellow lights and he hates it even more now, that even under that lighting Chan was so pretty. He reaches for his phone and he stares blankly at his lockscreen, Changbin and Seungmin. He loves them so much. He thinks them what they would say to him, he pictures Seungmin saying “Fuck It” and Changbin telling him sweetly “Is that what you really want?” And he doesn’t know what he would say to both. The duality is interesting, Seungmin is chaotic, he doesn’t care, he cares about them though, he would tell Minho to be happy. Changbin would be more careful, sweet, calm, tell him to not listen to Seungmin, or anyone, but his heart. If he even has one. 

He never listens to his heart, Minho is logical. He listened to his heart with Jisung, and it didn’t work. His heart is dumb, it doesn’t care about the consequences, the challenges and about how things are destined to fall apart. His heart sings a song, a song that tells him about Chan, that tells him about how much he wants him. The song is as sweet as Chan’s voice. Chan’s voice. He misses his voice. Will Chan give him a chance just to listen to his voice, just once. Maybe that’s not that bad, just hearing his voice for a while.

Minho unlocks his phone, he opens the phone icon, he stares at it. There’s only calls from his manager and Changbin, and the ones he started are from Seungmin. The only ones who he gives the chance to ask him if he’s okay, two for love, one for obligation. Does he want Chan to ask him if he’s okay? If he asks, his mind says yes, his heart says no, because he knows he can’t lie and say that he is. He searches Chan’s contact and remembers he didn’t save it. He goes to his messages, he takes a while to find it. And he knows that unknown number belongs to Chan, because the last message he sees is “I don’t think so”. 

He reads the last messages, and thinks about it. He said he didn’t want to see him again, not listen to him. He hesitates to click the little phone icon right beside his unsaved number. His heart beats faster. He clicks it, he doesn't remember to put it on his ear, so he does after some seconds. It’s calling. The noise of his phone calling Chan’s is nerve wracking, he uses his head. What if he’s sleeping with his fiancé? What if he ruins Chan’s life right there with a call? He’s about to finish the call without giving a chance for those questions to be answered. As soon as he thinks that, the phone stops ringing.

“Minho?” He listens, the voice is low, he was sleeping. His voice, it sounds like an angel, and he sounds so sweet saying Minho’s name. Minho’s heart hurts, he feels that agonizing pain there. Chan picked up so quickly, even though he seemed like he was sleeping.

“Chan,” Minho whispers, holding his phone even more close to his ears, so he can listen to his voice almost like they’re face to face.

“I thought you didn’t want to see me again,” Chan says, his voice sounds painful and Minho wants to punch him. He doesn’t want to listen to him speak that way, the same way he talked about his parents, the way he said goodbye when Minho tried to sneak out of his room unnoticed, the way he talked about the ring. He hates that tone, it doesn’t fit Chan’s voice.

“I’m not seeing you, dumbass,” Minho speaks, playfully, like a goddamn teenager talking to her school crush, maybe Chan is not the dumbass. Chan laughs, that fits him better. His laugh sounds good, way too good for Minho’s sake, way too good for his sanity. 

“You’re right,” He also sounds like a teenager talking to her school crush, he is a dumbass too. There’s a sudden silence, “Is everything okay?” He asks. He doesn’t want to answer, no everything is not okay, anything is okay. Things are not okay because he misses Chan, because he loves to hear his laugh, his voice, and hates to see him sad. Things are not okay because this wasn’t supposed to be happening. Those feelings don’t belong inside of Minho, those things are not for him, not only because he doesn’t want to feel them, but because someone else should be feeling them. Chan should sound like a teenager talking to her school crush to someone else, not his dirty little secret in the form of a fucked up pretty model.

“Just drunk,” Minho says, carefully, without a little bit of confidence. It doesn’t sound like him. He throws a lot of white lies, but never because he’s hiding something so big inside of him that he’s scared to say. Minho hates that he’s very combative, how he has words, comebacks, to everything, but Chan leaves him speechless.

“That doesn’t sound sincere,” Chan says and Minho sighs internally. He shouldn’t have realized, he should laugh and say, typical of you, ask him if it was whiskey and small talk about drinks until Minho feels like his need is filled. Until Minho hangs up and sighs to himself feeling relief, relief from finally hearing his voice and that tomorrow he will forget that call. 

“How do you know that?” Minho asks, kind of defensive, he hates himself because he just admitted that he was lying to him. 

“I know how you sound when you’re being sincere,” He says. He shouldn’t know that, because Minho knows that when he has to say to Chan that he doesn’t want him around with his own voice, he will realize. Chan should believe in his lies, all of them, all the ones he needs to tell Chan and tell himself. Minho is silent for a while, “Where are you?” Chan asks, cutting the silence again. 

“At some club,” Minho answers, quickly and simply. Chan sighs on the other side. 

“At some club where?” He asks, Minho doesn’t like his determination. He doesn’t do things like Minho wants him to do, he should be mad and say “okay” and stop asking him questions.

“Somewhere in Seoul,” He tries again to cut Chan off, so he will get pissed. He wants Chan to hate him, to give up, to be the one to reject him so he can forget about him quickly. He wants Chan to give him something bad, that will hurt his ego so he can hate him too. It would be so easy if he could start hating Chan.

“Minho, can I pick you up? You don’t seem okay,” He says, he sounds so worried; Why is he worried, why isn’t he mad? Why doesn't he give up? Minho begs inside, please give up. Please give up so I can do it too. Please don’t be worried, be mad, curse me out, say that I’m the worst thing that ever happened to you. Minho begs, he begs and begs for Chan to leave him, he has to, before it’s too late for both of them.

“Chan, why do you care so much?” Minho asks, he wants him to answer that he doesn’t, that he’s only asking that because he thinks Minho wants to hear it, because he thinks he should please. He wants to hear Chan say it’s just his nature, that Minho is not special, that he doesn’t like him particularly, that he just has stuff inside that tells him to be kind.

“Because I like you,” He says. Why doesn’t he do what Minho wants, why? Why does Chan have to like him? Why him? He’s no good, Chan is engaged. Minho hates even more because he wants to say that he likes him too. He wants it so much. Why Chan isn’t just someone single, with no bills to pay, without any expectations from other people. Why does Chan have to be something so impossible to catch? And Minho even asks himself if he would like Chan if he wasn’t impossible. 

“Why? Why do you like me?” Minho bursts out, he’s out of control, maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the way he’s overwhelmed, the way he’s facing fears and insecurities, facing feelings that once again make him agonize in pain. Minho wants him to say that he was joking and that Minho can chill because he could never like someone like him. And once again, why should he? Minho thinks. What would someone as gifted with kindness, warmth, love would want with him? A mess, a fucked up mess trying to function in a world he finds so cruel and torturing? What does Minho have to offer other than a nightstand and a pretty face? Minho doesn’t see reasons why Chan would want him. 

“Because I like you, Minho,” Chan says, he almost whispers and Minho wouldn’t probably hear it if he wasn’t holding the phone so tightly to his ear, “I like everything about you, I don’t think I can even list everything. I don't have to have a list of everything I like about you to like you, Minho,” He has to though, because Minho doesn’t see anything. 

“You shouldn’t like me, Chan,” Minho says, he says it so small because he feels like his throat is clogging, he’s drowning. He feels his turbulent waves pulling him down, water filling in his lungs until he doesn’t know how to breathe anymore. 

“I know,” He says, that sad tone comes back, “I know,” He says again, more lower, “Still, I cannot control the things I feel, I’m sorry,” He sounds like he’s about to cry and Minho hates it so much, he hates it so much it burns his insides. He doesn’t want Chan to cry, tears, warm tears, will never look pretty on him. He’s not built to feel sad, and Minho wants to force him into happiness, he wants Chan to be happy, the happiest of beings. And he knows, he won’t be happy with him. Minho is not happiness, he’s not the person who will bring Chan that. And maybe that’s his fear, that’s his pain, knowing he will never be the one to make him happy. 

“Don’t…” Minho says, “Don’t ever… Apologize to me,” Minho lets out. He’s not the one for Chan to say sorry, he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve those words. He wants to say sorry, he’s prideful but he knows he’s the one to blame. He always is. Blame, that’s a thing he has to carry on his back every single day, thinking about how much he has done, and still is doing. 

“Ok,” Chan says quietly, “Can I please pick you up?” He asks again and Minho sighs, he lets out the sigh he wanted to throw away for so long. He knows Chan shouldn’t pick him up, he knows. 

“Itaewon,” He says.

Minho waits for Chan on the back of the club. He finds it weird he does know where it is, Minho asks himself if Chan went there someday, it’s fun to imagine him at a club, he doesn’t know what Chan would wear. He wants to leave before Chan arrives, he already regrets everything and he hasn’t even arrived. Minho tried to walk away three times but he couldn't walk properly, he had a good amount of alcohol before he got ready to leave the club and wait for Chan, now the bottle is almost over and he still holds it like a precious belonging. He holds it as proof he drank a lot and that choice was purely made because he’s drunk and has no control over himself. Which is a white lie, he does. 

When Chan gets there he knows because he opens the window, he has a fancy car Minho doesn’t even know the name. When Minho sees him, even though he’s wearing a mask, his heart races, he wishes he could blame that on heart problems or some kind of drug. He walks up to Chan’s car and opens the door. His smell leaves the door, Minho gets even more hit up by the reality of that situation, and when he gets inside the car and smells it completely, he knows it’s all real. Mainly, sweet, with a citrus punch, he feels almost an ease go through his body, like he was going through some kind of abstinence and now he can finally fulfill all his desires. 

“I brought you a coat,” Chan says, he doesn’t look at him yet, and Chan doesn’t look too, “It’s on the back seat,” He says, and Minho nods, reaching for it, it’s pretty thick and pure black. It’s actually a pretty beautiful coat, “I had a feeling you were undressed,” Chan giggles, he seems fine, Minho likes it. He smiles quietly, putting the coat over himself. It smells like his perfume. Minho is too drunk to pretend he’s not smelling it. Chan starts the car. 

After taking a small bit of his drug he decides to look at Chan. He doesn’t look like Minho expected, actually, he doesn’t look like that at all. He’s wearing a simple back shirt, his milky muscular arms showing, he has a pretty big golden watch and a bracelet, he’s wearing a black ripped jeans, which is so unusual, but Minho likes the bits of skin showing and some tattoos are there too, all over his thighs. That’s the most skin Chan has ever shown. When he looks at Chan’s half covered face, his eyes look more rounded, and Minho realizes that he’s not wearing makeup, Minho didn’t even know he wore it. And then he realizes, no forehead showing, instead of that, there’s messy dark curls all over his forehead. 

“Your hair is curly,” Minho says, and Chan looks at him, taking his face off the road. His eyes close a little, he’s smiling. Minho wishes he could see that smile.

“Yeah, natural curly hair,” He says, giggling a little, “They make me look cute so I normally straight it up,” Minho wishes he didn’t, in a weird way, they fit him. He didn’t know his hair was like that and he’s glad to know, because now he can’t see Chan like he used to, he looks better that way. 

“They do make you cute,” Minho whispers, but they’re too close for Chan to not listen, he smiles under his black mask again. Minho for a moment thinks about how much he wants to compliment Chan, and then about the way that’s a sin. He doesn’t want Chan to like him more, and he doesn’t know how to make that work if he can’t be mean to him. Minho knows he has to make Chan sad so he will stop liking him, but making Chan sad is even a bigger sin. 

There’s silence and then Minho realizes something, “Where are we going?” He asks.

“The usual,” Minho knows what he’s talking about, a hotel. Their meeting place, a place that actually works a lot for them, somewhere where people stay for a few nights and then go back to their normal lives, a place you can hide, a place you should get attached to. Temporary. Just like them, Minho knows how temporary they are. How they can’t be together, and that his moments with him are counted. He hates that. A lot, “I’m sorry it’s not as fancy, I didn’t have time to make a good reservation,” Chan says, “Also, I’m sorry for apologizing,” He says and Minho laughs.

“You can’t help yourself, do you?” Minho laughs, and Chan laughs back. He’s adorable. 

“No,” Chan laughs again, “I’m very apologetic,” He says, he says it playfully. He handles it kind of well, probably very used to doing that.

“I didn’t even realize,” Minho says ironically and Chan giggles. He forgot how giggly he is, how bubbly and sweet. How he’s easy, he can say, not in a bad way, it’s bad only for Minho. Because maybe if he was hard he would’ve fallen for him. 

They stay silent for a while, and as soon as Minho realizes they’re already at some hotel. It’s quite fancy actually, maybe Chan also has high tastes. He drives it to some kind of garage, smart idea. Minho gets shivers imagining what the tabloids would do or say if they were seen together, it’s a gigantic nightmare to him for people to know they ever saw each other. And probably no one would understand who they’re together, neither does Minho. They come from different worlds that don’t collide often, not that Minho hasn’t fucked some business men in his life but they don’t arrive at hotels in the middle of the night in the same car. Minho doesn’t even know what kind of apology he would have to explain what him and Chan are doing there together. 

They don’t go together either, they have to check in. Chan gives him a random number and tells him to go a little later to his “room” and he says the room they’re actually going to be together in. Minho didn’t have to check in on the other two occasions. And the way Chan is slick about it, seems like he has done it before, and he wonders with who or when? Maybe Chan is frequently hanging out with models, maybe he’s not as shy and reserved as he seems to be. Maybe it’s because Minho is drunk, but he feels kind of angry to know he might not be the only one. Not that he is technically because Chan has a fiancé. He waits for a while and then goes to check in. His room.

“Are you Lee Minho?” The boy on the reception asks, and Minho presses his eyebrows together. He looks at him and the boy smiles shyly. 

“Depends,” Minho says, sharply. And the boy giggles uncomfortably. Minho still looks at him like he hates him completely for asking. The boy brushes his own waist. 

“Just because I’ve seen your face before,” He says, and Minho presses his eyebrows again. 

“Yeah, I’m famous,” Minho says, he sounds very drunk and very much bitchy, the boy laughs nervously again. Damn, why is it with shy boys and trying to talk to him? This one is persistent too. 

“Sorry,” He says, and gives Minho his card. Minho nods and turns around. He then listens to the boy’s voice again.

“You’re pretty,” He says and Minho laughs, he keeps going.

“I know,” He says back going straight to the elevator. He doesn’t know why but he didn’t care much, and that boy wasn’t ugly, maybe he just doesn’t want anyone else complimenting him or even talking to him.

He gets in the elevator, instead of pressing his floor, of course he presses Chan’s. Once again he is in the last room of his floor. They tend to be the fanciest. He knocks on the door and Chan almost instantly opens it, like he was waiting for Minho at the door, and maybe he was. Chan smiles brightly at him when he opens the door. He’s not wearing his mask anymore, his eyes look so small, his nose is a little bit red and his lips are so big and redish. He looks more like a baby. 

“What took you so long?” Chan asks like he was waiting for an eternity, it hasn’t been 15 minutes. Minho enters the room when Chan moves to the side, he looks at it. Not as big, but still with couches and a balcony, he does love balconies.

“Reception boy was trying to flirt with me,” He says simply, naturally, like it’s a normal chore for the day. Which is kind of true. He’s famous, he’s hot, people constantly try to flirt with him. Chan is quiet, Minho stares at him, he has his eyebrows pressed together. He doesn’t seem very amused, “What’s in your head, curly boy?” Minho asks and Chan realizes he was staring at him, he softens his face as soon as he realizes. 

“Nothing,” Chan says, he tries to sound like he’s telling the truth, but Chan does a small thing when he’s lying. He makes a funny face, he scrunches his nose while speaking very quickly.

“Your face tells me you’re lying,” Minho laughs and Chan sighs, Minho walks around and Chan follows.

“How do you know?” Chan asks while they are walking. Minho almost fades into the couch, because he throws himself, he needs to sit down somewhere comfortable, his head is too messy. Chan sits right beside him. 

“You do a thing with your nose,” Minho says, pointing to Chan’s nose. When Chan seems confused Minho points to himself, “Like this,” He scrunches his nose trying to imitate him. 

“Do it again,” Chan says, and Minho does it, he’s trying to get his point across. Chan starts laughing and Minho looks at him confused, smirking a little because he has a contagious laugh. 

“What?” Minho asks, Chan is still laughing. He’s so dumb, so, so dumb. He has to admit he likes them big and dumb.

“You look adorable doing it,” Chan says, his cheeks are red from laughing. He now can see when Chan blushes. And then again, he’s so dumb, Minho is not cute doing anything. Not that anyone noticed, however, Chan seems to notice things about Minho that are cute not hot.

“I’ll never do it again,” Minho tries to sound pissed but he’s smiling, damn alcohol taking away his self control, “And, stop trying to run away from the subject, were you jealous?” Minho teases and Chan’s smile leaves his expression. He’s blushing, Minho can see his milky cheeks getting red, he notices his ears are red too.

“Maybe,” He whispers and Minho laughs. Dumbass, jealous dumbass. Minho doesn’t get it, they’re not together, at the same time, he felt jealous before. He hates jealousy but it’s so common to him, he’s a scorpio and always puts himself in situations where he’s not the only one.

“Don’t be,” Minho says, he wants Chan not to ask why, he doesn’t want to say and he will not say anything. He doesn’t want to say what comes to his mind because he knows it can’t be reciprocated, like most things he thinks about Chan. 

“Minho,” Chan calls, very low, very small, very much like a whisper, “Sometimes I wish you could be mine,” He now whispers, it’s almost inaudible. Chan is courageous today. Minho feels those words hurting him inside in a way he did not expect. He only wishes, because he also knows Minho can’t be his. Minho kind of wishes too. The deep, his insides, the darkest more hidden pieces of his being can admit he wanted to be his, that he wants for Chan to be single and alone, so Minho could give him a chance. 

“I can’t though,” Minho says and Chan’s head gets a little down, Minho holds his hand in a fist, “You can’t be mine either,” He says, it breaks him inside a little. He has enough control to not show it, but he thinks he’s not hiding at all. 

“Do you wish I could?” Chan asks, putting his head up. He looks at Minho with his eyes, tiny eyes shining, like he’s almost crying. Not again, not making Chan almost cry again.

“Does it matter? I know you can’t be,” Minho tries his best to move away, to slip right through that subject, to avoid any kind of pain, any kind of confession. He can’t say anything, he will not say anything. 

“Do you?” Chan insists, Minho sighs. He forgets how persistent he is for a while until he is persistent again and Minho has to fight to even find words to make things impartial. 

“I don’t know you enough,” Minho says, and that is both a lie and a fact, he doesn’t know him enough yet, he doesn’t know everything about him and he hasn’t tried knowing more. But it’s a lie because it doesn’t matter, even though he doesn’t, he’s trapped inside those feelings that are bigger than himself. 

“Then, get to know me,” Chan says and Minho presses his lips together. He’s quick witted, way too much for Minho to handle. 

“I want to,” That’s the most sincere about any feelings Minho will be and he sets that boundary almost instantly, “But Chan, we can’t be together, you know that, right?” Minho says, Chan’s head drops again, that’s the truth and it seems to hurt Chan a lot, it hurts him too, to be honest. He lets his brain go to some places that he hopes he can wake up tomorrow and forget. 

“I know,” Chan says in the middle of a sigh, “But can we still get to know each other, please?” Chan says, he begs actually, his “please” and his eyes, he looks like the cat with boots from that movie. 

“Yeah,” Minho puts it simply.

“What do you like most in the world?” Chan asks straight forward questions. Damn, Minho hates questions, but he agreed, he cannot say he will not answer them.

“Fashion…” Minho says, hesitating to get deeper, Chan is not pleased, “Okay, and my best friends,” He says, almost too quietly, he’s not a person who enjoys talking about love and loving. 

“Why?” Chan asks, Minho looks at him funny.

“Isn’t my turn now?” He says, and Chan laughs. 

“You didn’t elaborate,” Chan says simply, Minho sighs, “You don’t play the getting to know you game very often, do you?” Chan asks rhetorically, he’s right, he doesn’t.

“Because they’re the closest to a family I ever had,” Minho almost whispers and then cleans his throat, Chan seems amused now, “What about you?” Minho asks back.

“Music, writing music, producing music,” He says, so happily, so softly, he does sound like he loves it. Chan is so much more connected to love than Minho is, he talks about it in a way that seems like he’s so natural towards it, his eyes shine and he doesn’t care about sounding like a kid. Minho kind of envies that. 

“Show me them sometime,” Minho says, softly. He can’t help but sound like that, Chan makes him be the things he despises, soft, sweet, calm.

“I will!” Chan says happily, maybe he doesn’t share them often because he sounds so excited, “Have you ever fallen in love, Minho?” Chan asks, he sounds so curious. He hates that question more than he thought he would. 

“Why did I agree with this,” He whispers to himself, Chan takes it well, because he laughs, “Yes,” Minho says, he says it so firmly because that’s something he doesn’t want to elaborate.

“Really?” Chan asks surprised and Minho laughs.

“Is it so difficult to believe?” He says, but Minho thinks it’s kind of difficult to believe too. 

“Kinda, I can’t see you falling in love with someone,” Chan says.

“Why? It makes you jealous?” Minho says it in a playful way, Chan laughs. Always laughing. 

“Stop,” Chan giggles, once again, like a teenager, if he had put his hair over his ears it would look like a scene from a movie, “It’s just that you seem very reluctant of feelings,” He got him. 

“I am,” Minho admits, and Chan smirks, “I still have them though,” Chan noods. Does he feel uncomfortable with where things are going? Yes, does he hate it, though? No. 

“I have too,” Chan says, he whispers a little, Minho sounds confused because he knows Chan has and then he realizes he's answering the question, in a revealing way. Minho hums, why is Chan so obvious, “Not a lot, though,” Chan says, he seems so shy now, Minho knows Chan is aware of the fact that Minho knows the connotation of his first phrase. 

“Chan, do you like girls?” Minho asks of pure curiosity, and Chan’s ears get red, very, very red. He cleans his throat. He looks terrified, completely terrified. 

“I’ve liked them before,” Chan says, kind of uncomfortable. It seems like he reached a piece of Chan he has not yet thought about, just like the kinks, but much deeper than that. Minho regrets it but at the same time he definitely doesn’t. He doesn’t like seeing Chan like that, but Minho wants him to discover yet more things about himself.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Minho says and Chan’s eyes get a little bigger and then come back to normal, “Do you still like them?” Minho persists, the tables turn, because until that moment Minho hasn’t shown how persistent he is too, how determined he is to always get to the truth doesn’t matter how unbearable it is. 

“I don’t know,” Chan tries to get away, but Minho is too invested. He hates being like that, but he feels that not many people have been that invested in getting to know that part of Chan. He doesn’t think even Chan tried himself. 

“I think you do,” Minho says and Chan sighs. He seems so trapped, trapped in his own idea.

“How do you know?” Chan asks, sincerely. Like he wants Minho to explain all the secrets of homossexuality, he does care enough to answer.

“I think I always did,” Minho says and Chan nods to show he’s paying attention, he indeed is, he looks at Minho like he’s telling the biggest of truths for a lie Chan has always believed, “I never felt really attracted to them, I still find them pretty or cool, I’m not blind, but I guess I never pictured myself with them,” Chan whispers “oh” he does his thinking face, Minho thinks it’s kind of funny how he realized so many of Chan’s mannerisms during the times they are together.

“I find them pretty and cool too,” Chan says, he sounds hesitant like he’s forming thoughts as he goes, “I don’t know if I imagine myself with them, maybe I just didn’t find a girl I think it’s pretty and cool enough,” He says weirdly, he doesn’t sound even a little bit sure about the things he says, sexuality is something he sure hasn’t figured out. 

“You don’t think often about your sexuality, do you?” Minho asks and Chan nods, he looks weirdly soft, like a small kid talking about something bad they have done, scared of the way his parents are going to react.

“No,” Chan says more sure of himself, and then he puts his head down, “I never had free will, I mean, I was never allowed to experience much,” Minho feels sad for him, he seems so tense and blotted up, so confused and frustrated. 

“Are your parents homophobic?” Minho asks, trying to sound careful, he doesn’t want to force Chan to tell such things, so he tries so much to make the conversation feel a little more lighter than the actual subject. 

“I don’t really know about my mom, she wasn’t very opinionated about things when I was growing up,” Chan says, that seems like something he doesn’t like, and maybe they are bigger truths about the way his dad is that they haven’t got to, “My dad on the other hand, yes, I think he might be,” Chan almost whispers, Minho is right, his dad is much worse than Minho thought. He didn’t like him already because his dad was a cheater, but it seems like that’s not the only thing his dad is. 

“I’m sorry about that, Chan” Minho says softly, he touches Chan’s hand, a very light and comprehensive touch, he wants to show that Chan is not alone, Chan is not trapped or in danger, Chan looks at their hands together, “You seem like you were such a good kid, I don’t know if that’s good or not,” Chan presses his lips together and his dimples appeared.

“I don’t know either,” He says sweetly, Chan is so sweet all the time, it’s weirdly amazing how everything sounds cute, “Were you parents against your choice?” Chan asks.

“Not much of a choice, still, yes they were,” Minho says it naturally, he never considered them family, not even as a child, so he knows that didn’t affect him much, actually it didn’t affect at all, he wasn’t scared, he wasn’t trying to hide himself, “I never cared though, they’re nothing to me,” He says, he sounds kind of pissed.

“I wish I were more like you,” Chan says, he sounds embarrassed of himself, Minho doesn’t enjoy it, “I’m such a coward,” He sounds mad at himself too, not only embarrassed. What he doesn’t know though is that, Minho wishes he was like Chan too, on many other things, maybe that’s what makes them attract each other magnectelly, the thing that makes them so curious about each other, the base of everything might be that they’re so much opposites that they find something within themselves something that they’re missing. 

“You’re not a coward, and don’t think it’s good to be me either,” Minho says sincerely, Chan’s eyes sparkle a little, “My sexuality is indeed something I don’t struggle with, but I struggle with so much more,” 

“Sometimes you seem almost untouchable, like you don’t suffer at all,” Chan says and Minho thinks about it, he does try his best to pretend he’s untouchable, and that proves he does it well. But that is a lie, the biggest of lies Minho tells to someone, the lie of his strength. Minho is not weak, he knows that for a fact, he has held on to a lot, he’s still alive, he still lives, but he’s not as strong as he shows. Minho is always in agonizing pain, sometimes that pain is numb inside him, like a tumor that doesn’t spread, but he cannot deny that at times that pain spreads so quickly, he feels it on every bone of his body.

“I do,” Minho admits, both to himself and to Chan, not a lot of people get the right to know he has weaknesses, Minho tries to be almost inhuman at times, cold and feelingless, he wishes that worked inside too, “I just never let it consume me,” He says.

“I let things consume me very quickly,” Chan admits, Minho nods.

“That’s why I don’t think you’re a coward,” Minho says sincerely, “You let yourself feel, I think I might be the coward one, because I’m so scared of feeling that I let them hide inside me,” Minho admits, another thing not a lot of people know, and he doesn’t want them to know. There’s something about Minho, that makes him think that if people know his fears, instantly they can be used against him. Minho’s past with people poking his wounds is bigger than he wishes they were, fears are always the product of traumas, deep traumas you can’t avoid, you are able to ignore them yet not able to live without its consequences. 

“Wise drunk model,” Chan says, he knows Chan is careful, careful enough to make that subject die with that confession. He’s glad he does, because Minho laughs, like he didn’t even say something important. They stay silent for a while.

“You have a lot of tattoos,” Minho says, and Chan smirks nodding with his head. He didn’t expect him to have it, and now he really wants to see them. 

“Yes, I do,” Chan says smiling, “I wish I had more but I have limits, they have to be hidden,” He sounds sad, Minho hates those limits, Chan would be so hot with more tattoos. 

“Can I see them?” Minho asks simply and Chan blushes, “What?” He asks and Chan laughs uncomfortably.

“I would have to be almost naked if I did,” He blushes more, his ears are completely red. It’s funny that he knows Chan wants to have something physical with him, his mannerisms show, he looks at a lot of Minho’s lips and Minho’s thighs, he stares a lot, and Minho always notices it. Still, Chan is embarrassed at the thought of being almost naked.

“I don’t care, do you?” Minho asks and Chan runs his hand through his hair, he’s so embarrassed Minho wants to make fun of him, he doesn’t, because Chan would be even more embarrassed. 

“No… I don’t,” He says, hesitant. He knows Chan doesn’t care, but Minho knows he’s shy, he does look and sound confident at times, but he’s still shy. 

“Then, what are you waiting for,” Minho says and Chan laughs. Chan gets up, Minho lays more comfortably. Like he’s about to have a lap dance, he would like that. Chan puts his hands on the collar of his black shirt, quickly he takes off his shirt. Oh, Minho wasn’t expecting that. Chan is much more hot than he looks, he has a 6 pack, very, very defined, milky skin that seems as soft as a pillow, and his chest is all tattooed. He has roses coming from his shoulders with two snakes rolled into it until the start of his chest, right in the middle he has a scorpion, old school style, and on the top of it the words, “Kill your darlings” some kind or typewriter font. He’s familiar with those words. 

“You who have suffered, find love where it hides,” Minho says, Chan looks incredibly surprised. 

“You’re into poetry?” Chan asks and Minho laughs.

“When it’s gay, yes,” He says and Chan laughs too. He brushes his fingers onto his tattoo, Minho’s eyes follow it. His skin must feel so good, Minho thinks, and then discards it. Chan looks at him deeply for a while and then he turns around. He has two dragons on his back, both are only the outlines, one is black and the other red. They’re so pretty, and they compliment his complexion and the muscles on his back, he moves his arms more close together and his muscles pop up, the tattoo suddenly gets moviment. 

Minho gets up, he doesn’t care much at that point. He gets close to Chan and he gets startled, but he doesn’t move. Minho puts his hand up, he hesitates for a while, because he knows he shouldn’t have to be doing that. With the tips of his fingers he touches Chan’s back, and he feels him shiver under his touch. His skin is soft as he pictured, with some texture on his tattoo, making that soft touch more pleasing and interesting. Minho runs his fingers through Chan’s back, lightly but firmly enough to feel his skin. He goes up touching his muscles. His head makes him think about having Chan’s body against him, feeling his muscles, scratching his back. He takes a long breath to ignore those intrusive thoughts.

When Minho takes his fingers to himself, Chan turns around. They’re not very different in height, maybe Chan is 3 centimeters taller than him; So their eyes lock, Chan has a soft expression but it doesn’t seem innocent, not even a little. Minho knows that he too has lust dancing over his gaze, he knows that tension is real and it’s there, making him kind of nervous. He moves both of his hands now, pressing both against Chan’s defined chest, Chan shivers again, and then looks at Minho’s hands, Minho looks at them too. He brushes his hands over the flowers and the snakes, then with his thumbs he runs over the scorpion, also textured because of the thick lines. He gets to the letters and then brushes his fingers over it. The urge to kiss every single line, and then every single letter makes him almost sweat. Damn Chan is hot, not only his skin that is as warm as pure fire, but the other sense of that word. Minho gets aroused by his body, he’s not particularly different from other people Minho was with, but Chan is indeed unique. 

Minho gets closer, just to feel Chan’s warmth more. Just a small bit of it, to maybe calm down his desires to feel it completely. I doesn’t work. It only makes him more needy. 

“You have more?” Minho whispers, almost against Chan’s skin. He shivers again, he seems very sensible, almost pubescent, such a big man so easily aroused by simple touches and whispers. 

“I do,” Chan says, almost like he’s out of breath, and maybe he is, because he lets out such a long breath that Minho thinks he was holding it for a while. 

“Show me,” Minho whispers again. Chan slowly moves his hands and Minho takes his own out of Chan’s chest, he looks at where Chan’s hands are going and he almost chokes when he realises. The bottoms of his pants. Minho knew they were there, on his legs. Still, he didn’t make his brain ready for such exposure, he expected and at the same time he didn’t. 

Minho listens to the zipper going down and he quickly stares at Chan’s face, he doesn’t want to stare at his bulge. I mean, he does, but he should not look. Chan pulls his pants down so easily and Minho steps away so he can look. He moves his view slowly, looking at his stomach, then he peaks a little where he shouldn’t, it’s surprising. He doesn’t stare for long or else he will probably feel things he doesn’t want to. He locks his eyes on Chan’s milky thighs. He has a big old school caravel on his right thigh, the blue of the sea looks pretty on him, his other thigh is more messy though, there’s a anchor on the top half of it is covered by his black underwear, and a dagger is too half covered, he has a bottle of whiskey and and a skull there too, they’re all red and black, more traditional than the caravel on the other thigh. He has big thighs and Minho wants to hold them, squeeze them. 

Minho tries his best to focus on his thighs, which is also not very good for his sanity, none of that is. He regrets the idea, he forgot for a while that he was drunk, he standed so firmly that his body thought he had some kind of self control and sobriety, he doesn’t. He looks up quickly, why does he have to be so hot? This isn’t fair, he could have a piece of his body that was ugly and not attractive so Minho could sleep well at night, and he doesn’t. Of course he had to have a big dick. He gets pissed with himself and then focuses on the tattoos again, he’s not sure he will touch them. 

“Touch them too,” Chan whispers and then cleans his throat, “If you want,” He says louder, like he didn’t even say the first phrase, Minho regrets it. He would rather talk about his deep secrets. He wants to touch them. So much. 

After some seconds, he does. Minho is drunk, it’s the whiskey's fault, it has to be. He tells himself again and again, it’s so the alcohol. But when he touches those milky thighs, there’s not a bone in his body that feels dizzy or drunk. It’s like his body lights up just like a christmas tree, god damn. He’s so soft, his skin is so soft. His thighs are shaved, freshly even, he touches the caravel very lightly, since it’s so full of color it’s not texturized, it’s soft like silk, like his favorite shirt. With his other hand he reaches the other thigh, and he wants to squeeze them. There’s more texture and then plain pieces of soft silky skin, Chan does terrible things to him.

He feels constantly that he’s going completely insane when he’s touching Chan, or even close to him. It’s like his third eye that contains his sanity and self control closes, ignoring every single request of logic, or strategy, he’s going insane. Without his third eye Minho forgets how dangerous that situation is, how wrong, how it’s a mistake, how he’s falling into his bad old habits. And for a split of a second it feels like the right choice. Chan leaves him like that, thinking about how right it is for his body and heart to desire Chan, and how wrong it is for his head being with him even though they cannot be a thing. The problem is that those feelings all get mixed together leaving him in complete confusion, making him fight with himself. 

He looks at Chan, he knows his eyes are filled with desire and lust, so are Chan’s. That shine of innocence and shyness is not there anymore, that softness he always shows when they’re together leaves, and also leaves Minho looking at lustful small eyes, calling his own. That feeling of magnitude is there, it’s even bigger than it was before. The lust embraces their eyes so strongly Minho feels like he’s losing his senses. Impulsively, Minho gets closer. Chan’s warm body is almost glued to him, and he has no chance to even wonder, because Chan steps forward. He feels Chan’s warm and defined belly against his own. He takes his hands off Chan’s thighs and places them on his back, wrapping them together. Chan’s hand gets on his waist and Minho runs his hands up, feeling the dragons on his back and his shoulder muscles under his palms. 

Chan glues his forehead against Minho’s and he feels Chan’s breath on his cheeks, his breath smells like minty cinnamon. He then feels Chan’s thighs and his bulge against him. For a while he was so inserted on touching Chan’s back that he forgot he has almost no pants on. He remembers even more when Chan moves his leg a bit and Minho hears the pants dropping to the floor. Chan steps forward a bit and Minho goes with him. He doesn’t look but he knows Chan is only on his underwear now, and his body burns with lust. 

Minho moves his head a little and his lips are almost touching Chan’s. Chan moves his head too and their lips brush together like the slightest butterfly kiss. Minho gives him a peck right after it and Chan sighs. He gives him a peck too, that lasts a little longer. Minho licks Chan’s lips, and he opens them. Minho opens his mouth too, and the kiss starts slow, so full of longing it almost hurts. They kiss so firmly though, and Minho gets a feeling of never wanting to stop, he wishes to be kissing Chan slowly while touching his muscular back forever, but forever is a long time and they don't even have a small bit of them. 

With the thought that everything might be temporary as the effect of heroin, Minho goes quicker, melting into it. Chan follows the pace well as always and Minho craves, he desires, he wants Chan. He wants to go quicker and quicker, deeper and deeper. He realizes for a second that it doesn’t matter how many boys he kisses, doesn’t matter how many parties he goes to fill his desires of lips against his own, no kiss will ever feel like that. No kiss is so full of desire, none of them are that dangerous and forbidden. Chan has a thing about his lips, his skin, his beauty and softness that makes Minho want more and more, and deep down he knows he will never get enough. 

They kiss and kiss, soft lips, the small weat-ish noises and the rushed breaths, the feeling of touching soft skin and dragon tattoos. Nothing in the world would feel like that, all the lookalikes in Seoul, all the muscular and sweet boys around, it’s not like that, it will never, ever, be. He remembers how strong Chan is when he moves his hands to Minho’s thighs and picks him up like he weighs nothing, like he’s light as a feather. He moves around and still kisses Minho like he’s not on his lap. He sits down and again Minho finds himself sitting on Chan’s lap. The place he missed yet he was too scared to say it. Minho knows that even the world is cracking around him, even if the whole universe catches on fire there’s no other place that he rather be.

Minho wraps his arms around Chan’s naked shoulders and leaves his hands resting comfortably on his back. He breaks the kiss and Chan still has his eyes closed, before he opens them, Minho kisses his lips, softly, then kisses his nose, both of his cheeks and his pupils. He kisses his chin and then slowly moves his head to fit right into the space between his strong jaw and his shoulder, Chan bends his head down, and Minho kisses his neck. Soft, wet kisses, he wants to bite and suck his soft skin, he knows he can’t, so he kisses and kisses it, trying to mark his territory without any bruises. Chan squeezes Minho's ass, that he has his hands on since he picked Minho up. It’s almost enough to make Minho horny, but he controls himself. Chan on the other hand doesn’t seem to have much control over his body, because Minho can feel very slightly that he’s almost hard. 

It sends shivers down his spine thinking about it, he wishes he wasn’t so damn horny, he’s usually pretty sexual, though, it gets so much worse around Chan. Maybe it’s the muscular body, maybe it’s the warmth, but Minho can’t forget that his desires for Chan are so much more than his flesh, his muscles, it’s much more than physical. That is the scariest part, Minho wants to feel Chan’s body, and of course he would love to feel his naked body burning Minho’s, he would love the intimate touch, the wet messy kisses and to feel Chan inside him, but it doesn’t stop there, and it should. Minho would love to know that the way he feels about Chan is just sexual tension, that his male body attracts Minho’s that way. But Minho wants to kiss him tenderly too, he wants to lay over his bare chest and feel his warm embrace filling all the empty spots in his heart. 

He wants Chan to find the keys to his doll heart, and he wants Chan to take care of it. It’s not only lust, it’s also love. Not that he loves Chan already, those things take time and he’s particularly slow, but there’s no other word for the way he feels deep inside, underneath his demons and insecurities. That’s why the feeling of that being wrong is even deeper, to lay in a bed and let Chan fuck him is forgiveable, falling in love with him is a sin. He wants to have sex with him, right now, he wants Chan to get even harder and he wants to suck him like he’s a whole feast, but then again, that might make things so much worse. 

The thought of sucking him is very clear inside his drunk mind, he wants to get down on his knees and stare at the tattoos on his thighs while he gets his throat all fucked up. Maybe that’s what he’s craving, maybe that is the only thing that he wants. He would like to lie to himself like that, not much of a white lie, so can he take it? He wants to know. 

Minho moves his hips, rolling over Chan’s lap, and he squeezes Minho’s ass with the stronger hands he has. He wants to roll even more, he’s so filled with lust and confusion, so full of feelings he can’t deal with. He doesn’t want it to happen, though, he doesn’t want to regret even more, he’s already so full of regrets that it weakens his bones. 

Minho stops. He moves his head up and then stares at Chan, who opens his eyes. They stare at each other for a while, Chan’s eyes shining with lust almost make him want to keep going. He has to control himself though, it’s way off hand already. Minho gives Chan another peck on his lips. Then without getting too far away he opens his mouth.

“We shouldn’t do this,” He whispers, almost scared to hear his own voice and realize that’s not a dream, or a crazy wonder he had sitting in that club. Chan sighs. 

“I know you want it,” Chan whispers back, his breath hits Minho’s cheeks, tenderly and warm. 

“That doesn’t mean I can,” Minho says, and he wishes so deeply that he could. There’s not many things in the world he can’t have, he has money, power and courage, those things though, don’t matter. And Minho feels almost like a spoiled kid that lays on the floor of the supermarket and whines to his parents that he wants to buy something. He can’t buy Chan though, get him out of a shelf and get him home. Chan is unreachable. 

Chan sighs, and then moves his hands off of Minho’s ass, and wraps them around Minho’s waist, hugging his body. Minho moves his head to the side and accepts that hug, he accepts it so quickly, he leans into Chan, feeling his embrace. It feels weirdly like home, and Minho knows that as soon as it ends he will feel homesick. 

“Chan, can we be just friends?” Minho asks, he asks because he doesn’t want to be away from him, and he knows that’s the only option he has. 

“Neither of us want that,” Chan says, laying his head onto Minho’s shoulder. He’s not lying. 

“Can we try?” Minho asks, so desperately. He wants Chan in his life, he knows he doesn’t want a friend, he’s pretty satisfied with his own, he doesn’t want to be friends with anyone else. But he has to be Chan’s friend, so they won’t be apart. 

“Yeah, at least we will keep in contact,” Chan says, sadly. And Minho laughs, of sadness, not happiness. He moves his body back a little, just enough to face Chan, and he has his head laid down on the couch now. Minho looks at him, he notes to himself how pretty Chan is, how heavenly he looks, how he’s more pretty than all the angels in the sky. And then smiles. Sincerely. He looks at the balcony, he sees that the night sky is getting more clear.

“The sun is almost rising,” He notes to Chan, saying underlines that he has to go. Chan moves his head up, and stares at Minho with shiny eyes.

“Sleep with me,” He asks, rushing his words almost like Minho is already leaving. And he knows that Chan is well aware of how often Minho leaves, Minho looks at him ready to say no, “Just for a few hours, please,” He almost begs.

Minho is hesitant, very hesitant, they’re supposed to be friends. Minho then thinks about the way he has slept with Changbin a lot of times because Changbin doesn’t like to sleep alone, that’s friendship isn’t? It’s supposed to be.

“Ok,” Minho says, and Chan smiles so brightly it’s like the sun is rising, he’s so sunny. Chan is the idealized version of the sun, bubbly, warm, sweet and bright. Minho is a star, but in many ways he’s the portrayal of the moon, cold, distant, that rises only in the darkness. 

Minho gets up, and walks to the bed. He’s sleeping in his leather pants for sure. He’s actually kind of sleepy, he knows that’s a consequence of chugging almost a whole bottle of whiskey. He lays in the bed and then kicks the covers down, getting his body comfortably under it. He moves his body and lays on his side, he curls his body together, squeezing himself. He closes his eyes and hears Chan getting up and waking to the bed. Then he feels the mattress going down on the other side of the bed when Chan sits, and then the pressure of his body is fully setted there. Minutes pass and he’s still awake with his eyes closed, he feels that Chan is peaking, he looks at him for a while and Minho tries his absolute best to seem like he’s sleeping. And Chan lays again, he moves in the bed. 

He comes closer and hugs him, he glues his body against Minho’s, passing all his warmth to him in only a few seconds. Minho feels Chan’s stomach on the part of his back that isn’t clothed. He wants to move and kick him so he doesn’t hug him that way, but that would make Chan sad. It’s only for a few hours, that can’t be so bad.

“I like you so much,” Chan whispers against Minho’s hair. That is bad. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t react. He only tries to fall asleep quickly and unnoticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was huge and a long ride glad you’re finally here. hope you like it
> 
> rainy!


	4. I cheated myself, like I knew I would (You know that I’m no good)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I told you I was troubled. You know that I’m no good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be sad, new things about the past will surface. I’m sorry this is not my best writing, I tried my best.
> 
> Also, Minho’s feelings, they are getting deeper and worse. And his borderline ways are going to be more clear to you guys.
> 
> Hope you like it!

Minho doesn’t wake up completely but he feels his head hurting, almost like there’s a whole world weighing over his head. It sucks so much, he doesn’t want his body to feel completely awake because he knows his hangover is going to crush his spirit. He wishes he was still a teenager, who wakes up ready for more buzz, but his body is rejecting the alcohol even more lately, and he’s not even in his late twenties, he’s young, but his body is getting older. Minho hates the concept of aging, why do people have to age? He doesn’t want to be old, he’s too pretty to be old someday, and birthdays don’t make him happy anymore. When he was getting close to adulthood, he was so excited, counting the days. When the age of 19 came he felt like his world was finally getting better, now he was completely free. When he finally turned 20 he realized, now he’s free but he’s going to get older and older, every year will arrive with a warning, that he’s getting more and more close to losing his grace, that he has to be less and less reckless. He’s responsible, but not enough to be a full grownup man, not responsible enough to know he has to live a comfortable life, a life that will pay off. Minho hates that everything revolves around life and death, he doesn’t want to live enough to fall from grace, to lose his appeals and his recklessness, but he doesn’t want to die either. He’s actually so afraid of death, sometimes he doesn’t sleep at night too haunted by the concept of death, too haunted by the fact his life is temporary, and that the only thing that he knows for sure is that he’s going to die. 

His body gets more awake, the bed is very comfortable and he wants to be there forever. As his brain starts to process things more, he realizes it doesn’t smell like his sheets, it doesn’t smell like his room, he’s not home. Then he realizes that even if his head hurts and even though he had almost a full bottle of whiskey, it wasn’t enough to erase his memory. He knows where he is, he’s at some hotel. He’s sleeping in a bed he never laid on, and he was not alone. He opens his eyes.

He doesn’t want to move, he doesn’t want to remember anything. He tries and tries to avoid all the things he did, where he is, but the walls of that place haunt his head, bringing him some memories he wanted to forget so forcefully. Chan. Chan is there, he’s there somewhere, they were there together. The smell of Chan enters his nose as soon as he starts to unlock his conscience, it’s fresh and very strong, he’s probably close, he probably wore his perfume very recently, because almost the whole room smells like him. It smells so good. Minho wants to ask what perfume it is, he wants to have it, so he doesn’t have to be close to Chan to smell him. 

Minho moves in the bed, the place where Chan used to be is messy, the blanket is slightly down. He doesn’t want to look for him on the room, he doesn’t want to look around and find Chan, he doesn’t want to stare at his pretty face, he doesn’t want his face to mess with his head and his sanity, he doesn’t want the guilt of being there with him to intoxicate his mind so much he has to deal with it. And he knows, he knows that he has to face the guilt completely, that he has to deal with it, he doesn’t want to, not even for a moment. 

He doesn’t hear movement or feels his presence. He sits on the bed and stares blankly forward as he sees the couches. The slight memory of him and Chan sitting there comes, and then he remembers they kissed. That he was on Chan’s lap on that exact couch, that he was almost naked, he closes his eyes. Minho sighs to himself, god damn, they kissed again. He remembers Chan's half naked body, his muscles, his milky skin and his tattoos, he remembers his hands touching those tattoos and how beautiful they were. How good it was. Minho feels then a sudden despair, shame, and guilt, all hitting him like a punch, a very strong one. His stomach starts hurting and it’s almost agonizing how terrible it feels inside him, how many mistakes he made and how many sins he committed.

He doesn’t care about being a person filled with errors, mistakes and sins. He likes to be sinful, it makes him feel more of a person, makes him feel reckless, and he likes going against the rules, but sometimes, and very rare times, those rules aren’t supposed to be broken. The rules and the boundaries he has set with Chan aren’t supposed to be broken, those boundaries are necessary, very necessary. That’s a mistake, or even a sin, he has committed before, he has done this before, and it wasn’t good. And with Chan even more, even more because Chan shouldn’t be in that situation, he’s too good to be involved in such things.

Minho knew when he left that club yesterday that he was going to regret it. But he did it anyway like he’s dumb, and he knows he’s smarter than that. He regrets the idea of going out to drink, and he knows now that’s not the choice he should’ve made. He regrets every single moment and he has to leave. 

He finds his phone uncomfortably inside his pocket, he takes it out, when he unlocks the phone there’s a lot of notifications and he sees that it is 3pm already, so Chan is definitely not there. That makes him more relieved, he doesn’t want to stare at Chan’s face and get even more memories, if he has to remember it, he would like to do it alone, which is probably the smartest thing he thought in a while. Minho is left dumbfounded with himself and his choices. He’s laying in a bed at some random hotel at 3pm with a fucking hangover. 

He unlocks his phone, and clicks on the message icon. He scrolls through the things he doesn’t want to see and he doesn’t want to see most of them, even the ones of his manager, he doesn’t have any brain left to talk about work. He finds then what he wants and he hesitates to open, he stares at it for some seconds. After a long breath he opens it.

Unknown number:

Sorry I left you alone, I had to work

Unknown number:

I didn’t want to wake you up, you looked so cute

Unknown number: 

Let me know when you wake up, so I can send my secretary to check out for me

Unknown number: 

You can stay as long as you want! 

Minho sighs at the thought of how sweet Chan is all the time, the way Chan acts makes him feel even more conflicted with their situation, maybe if Chan was a little less pure, sweet and kind, Minho would be able to ignore him. Push him away. But because Chan is like that, the purest of beings, the sweetest of them all, it’s almost impossible to him. He has to leave him though, at some point he has to, and he knows for sure that’s the only way out. New memories surfaced and now Minho is even more conflicted. He asked if they could be friends. 

He thinks again to never drink or get drunk again, such a stupid choice. Chan told him, and he can hear him clearly, “Neither of us want this,” He was so painfully right. Minho doesn’t want to be only his friend and at the same time he knows he can’t be more, and probably so does Chan. But maybe that can be a less painful idea, or maybe the most painful of things. He’s not sure, but he knows that now it’s too late for him to go back, everything actually, seems too late. He tries to convince himself though that most of the feelings he had last night were a product of his loss of sanity due to his alcohol abuse, it has to be. Minho is not like that, he doesn’t feel that way about people, not that quickly though. Even with Jisung, the only person he loved romantically, it took some time, so he has to be sure those things he felt about Chan are just some kind of fulfillment, just him searching for something or someone.

Minho sighs and decides to answer him, just to answer. Now that he agreed to the concept of friendship he has to at least try to be a good friend, right? He doesn’t know. It’s frightening to him, the fact that he doesn’t know anything anymore, he used to take pride in his knowledge, the way he’s emotionally and intellectually smart, yet now, he doubts he is, and that he ever was. Maybe he told that to himself and was wrong all along. 

Minho:

I’m going to shower and leave.

Minho:

I just woke up.

That’s the only thing he says before leaving to shower. He doesn’t wash his hair because he doesn’t have his shampoos, he notes to himself to take yet another shower when he gets home. And probably sleep more so he won’t be bombarded by his own thoughts. Home brings him some sanity, being in a safe space makes him think, he loves working and going out or having the company of his friends, because his house can be a little burden to him. Being so aware of himself as only Minho, not Lee Minho the model, Lee Minho the friend or Lee Minho the one having fun, is not something he likes to face. He knows that in the comfort of his house, even though that apartament screams luxury, he’s just a person. A regular person with three cats, pajamas and the agonizing silence of his own loneliness. 

Minho doesn’t like being a regular person, being just mediocre, he never liked that. Maybe that’s why during his school times when he was just a scared rich kid, he had to be such a pain in the ass talking constantly about how powerful he was. That’s maybe the reason he’s so picky about campaigns, to have this sense of power, importance, to be very away from the idea of mediocrity. His fears his insecurities, the idealization of himself and the power he wants to hold are the reason he has more enimies than friends, the reason he has more heartbreaks than lovers, the reason he has lost more than he ever had. 

He puts in consideration talking to his friends, at least calling them. Maybe Changbin can pick him up. He prays to something, not god itself, he wishes to the universe that his best friend is not busy. He needs someone, he’s more needy than he likes to admit, he’s more desperate for company than he will ever show. Minho is kind of ashamed of getting himself in his yesterday clothes smelling of alcohol and mistakes and walks out of that hotel door showing his tired makeup-less face to everyone that wants to see. 

He picks his phone and doesn’t even unlock it, he pulls up and clicks the phone icon, he knows Changbin’s number from memory. He presses the numbers and sits on the bed, listening to the ring. Changbin can be on his busiest days he will ever pick up after the 3 ring, he’s overly worried about people around him and himself, he panics very easily for little things and doesn’t react about the big ones, way too shocked to say something. Changbin’s anxious ways are one of the things Minho cares more in his life, he feels just like Changbin at rare times and for that he knows, he knows how he feels all the time.

“Minho,” Changbin says on the other side of the line, he sounds relieved, “How are you? I didn’t hear from you and I was so worried,” He says, very typical of him, Minho notes to himself, it’s funny how he can predict both Changbin’s and Seungmin’s reactions or quirks, the element of surprise isn’t common. The only comfortable thing Minho likes is the comfy ways of his friends. 

“I knew you were,” Minho says softly, calmly, as he normally does with Changbin, he tries his best to make him less anxious, Changbin laughs, “Are you busy?” Minho asks.

“No,” Changbin says simply, “I took the day off because the theater became my house, I don’t like being overwhelmed,” He says, mumbling a little, Changbin is very chatty, like a old lady you met doing your groceries, Minho likes that, because he knows that’s a trait Changbin usually doesn’t show to many people. 

“I’m glad you’re free,” Minho says, “Not only because you need to rest but because I need you,” Minho says and that sounds like something he used to say in darker times he rather not remember. Changbin’s story with him is a lot more difficult than it seems to be. 

“What happened?” Changbin sounds a little louder now, visibly anxious and worried.

“Calm down, it’s not something you have to worry about,” Minho says in a calm tone, he doesn’t want to tell Changbin about the reasons he’s there, how did he end up there and all the things about Chan he hasn’t told, yet he knows it’s coming, he just rather do it face to face, “Can you pick me up?”

“You’re not home?” Changbin says, he sounds curious yet intrigued, Minho wishes he wasn’t such a predictable person to Changbin, so he will find it normal for him to be somewhere else than home or work at 3pm. He doesn’t. Minho knows that.

“No, I’m at some hotel,” Minho puts it simply, trying to make that situation seem more normal, more like something that happens constantly and that Changbin won’t burn his brain trying to figure out.

“That doesn’t sound very good,” Changbin says and he sounds very weirded out, Minho’s attempts didn’t work, “Send me the address, I’m already dressed,” 

Minho checks out of his “room”, the new boy in the balcony says the bills are paid and Minho proceeds to ask about it, Chan’s secretary was already there and paid for their night. He’s glad he didn’t see her there, at the same time sad because he wanted to see her, to know how she looks. He’s very curious about Chan’s life, his connections, his secretary, his dad, his fiancée, and at the same time he rather never know what they look like. He wants Chan to be completely removed from his real life self, he doesn’t want to see Chan as the chaebol, he wants to see him the way he is with Minho, just a shy boy with tattoos.

He leaves the hotel by the back elevator that brings him to the parking lot that he arrived with Chan. He’s surprised Changbin is already there inside his car, waiting for him. He goes to the car and knocks at the window, Changbin looks at him and smiles, he hears the noise of the door unlocking and gets inside. 

“I brought you a mask,” Changbin says and Minho is glad he did. He remembers the last night when the first thing Chan said was that he bought him a coat, and he remembers way too clearly how comfortable it was and how it smelled like him. 

“Thank god,” Minho says and Changbin laughs.

They go straight to Minho’s apartment and Minho likes the comfortable silence the car has, they don’t have to talk a lot to each other to be together, and that’s a thing that Minho enjoys most. He’s not much of a talker, sometimes he does talk a lot, but both Changbin and him are listeners. They have a good relationship when talking about deeper stuff, since both of them are good at respecting each other’s pace. Changbin is definitely the person to go to when you have to let everything out and be supported, while Seungmin is the one to tell you what to do, he’s not careful or super supportive, if you’re right he’s going to agree, if you’re wrong he’s going to disagree. 

When they arrive Minho can see some paparazzis there and his stomach freezes, they go to get in by the back, he knows they got at least a shot of them inside the car. Changbin and Seungmin are safe with him, everyone knows they’re best friends, they go as a group on most events, yet, Minho keeps thinking about the fact that if he fucks up, they will go down with him. He’s scared of being outed just because of that, he doesn’t care if people try to ruin him in Korea for being gay, he won’t miss their spotligths, Minho does things internationally, he can leave Korea at any time. Seungmin on the other hand is a Korean actor, his whole career is based there, and Changbin can move too, he’s a Violin player, yet, he’s not ready to be talked about. The only way they can get apart is if any of them fucks up. Minho knows deep down he’s going to be the one. 

When they arrive at the apartment Changbin takes out of his pockets two packs of cigarettes and gives one to Minho who smiles, because he’s not in the mood to go out and buy some. Minho thanks him, telling him he’s going to take a shower. Minho is glad to be inside his gigantic bathroom, to shower with his expansive soaps and shampoos, with the temperature just right. He feels more at ease after going out of the shower, he dries his body slowly and calmly smelling his own sweet scent. He washes his face again separately, puts on his toner, his sirum and his essence. He gets out of the bathroom, puts on a boxer and a Versace robe, he doesn’t feel as mediocre because he’s wearing something expensive, smelling like something expensive and then realizes he’s gladly not alone. He gets out of the room, and Changbin is not in the kitchen, he’s probably outside. Minho takes that moment to see if his cats are fed, they are. He grabs Dori on his arms and the small cat purrs on his arm, closing her eyes. He goes to the balcony and finds Changbin sitting on the small smoking table he has, the curtains are going out of the window with the wind, the sun is hidden by the clouds.

Minho goes to Changbin, petting his cat on the head, and then sits down holding her. She sits on his lap like a little ball, Minho pets her for a while, in silence Changbin and Minho stay. They don’t talk and Minho only pets Dori, he sees his closed pack over the table and grabs it, he opens the plastic around it with his teeth, Changbin looks at his face and then he looks down. 

“You’re rich but still walks around barefoot,” Changbin notes, Minho looks at him smirking while pulling a cigarette out of the pack. He stops petting Dori to light it with Changbin’s hot pink lighter with CB written on it. 

“I never lose my habits,” Minho says, he sounds philosophical and looks out the balcony with his eyes glancing at the sky, everything is very white with small yellow lights and some blue bits showing. He knows he’s not talking only about walking barefoot, that’s not the only bad habit he still has. Some of them go give him a flu, some of them kind of ruin his health, others ruin him as a whole, affecting every single part of his mind, body and soul. 

“I know,” Changbin says, staring at him and Minho sees his eyes focused on him with the corner of his eyes, “Is that something you want to tell me?” Changbin says, he sounds worried, but says it carefully and softly, like he always does. Changbin is soft when he’s sober and well, but when he’s not soft Changbin is scary, doesn’t matter how small he is. He can be dark, even darker than Seungmin and Minho. 

“Yes,” Minho says, holding his sigh inside, he doesn’t want to say all the things, he’s scared that Changbin is going to be disappointed, sad, upset, and he can’t live without Changbin, “You remember what I told you weeks ago?” Minho states, Changbin looks up for a while thinking and then he nods.

“About the boy you met in Paris?” Changbin hesitantly asks, Minho nods and Changbin’s gaze gets a little weird, he knows Minho well enough to know that nothing good is about to happen.

“Yes,” Minho says small, “Chan,” He tells Changbin, he doesn't know his name yet, and only saying his name makes him nervous, too many memories came by. The way he remembers when Chan told his name, all the times Minho said his name while talking to him, telling him important things, flirting, all the times his head sang his name softly to tell him he missed Chan. 

“Chan?” Changbin asks for a complement, Minho sighs, he hopes that Changbin never heard his name anywhere.

“Bang,” Minho says almost in a whisper, too scared of his own words, of Chan’s name and reputation, Changbin’s reaction. Changbin seems to be thinking and Minho doesn’t say a word, he doesn’t even breathe. Changbin’s eyes then get a little bigger and Minho feels his stomach freezing again.

“Don’t tell me it is the Bang Chan the fucking chaebol?” Changbin says in pure shock, his name does have a reputation. Minho’s head drops his head and keeps his silence, almost feeling the urge to cry, Changbin then sighs at his silence, “Fuck,” Changbin whispers.

Minho looks at Dori on his lap, pets her head to keep calm and doesn’t look at Changbin, “It gets even worse, my habits are in fact difficult to correct,” Minho says and Changbin sighs again.

“I’m scared to hear,” Changbin says almost laughing nervously, and Minho presses his lips together, he’s scared to say it too. Those things he does with Chan aren’t supposed to be passed to speaking words, it should be between them and their minds, Changbin has to know though.

“He’s not… by himself,” Minho puts, he tries to be very vague about it, trying to hide in vague words the truth he holds within himself, the burden, the wounds and fears. 

“By that you mean he’s taken,” Changbin says, very sure of himself it doesn’t sound like any kind of question or confusion. Maybe Changbin knows much more than he expected. 

“You know him?” Minho says very quickly in shock, and Changbin denies with a head move, “How did you catch it so perfectly?” 

“Jihyo,” Changbin puts it simply, and Minho starts to think maybe he knows his secretary or something. But then the name seeems to weight on his back like something bad is coming. 

“Jihyo who?” Minho asks, he sounds sharply hiding the bad feelings he has with a ton of passive aggressive words. 

“Interesting you don’t know her name,” Changbin says more like a note to himself than an attack, “His fiancée, I saw her a couple times with her family, she told me about Chan,” Changbin says, “For some reason people like to brag to me,”

“What did she say?” Minho asks not wanting to know the answer but knowing it’s the only way. Minho knows he has to be bombarded by reality, or else his brain will think it’s okay, that not knowing she’s real he will let things pass by.

“You won’t like this,” Changbin says carefully, Minho hums.

“I don’t care,” He lies brantly, he lies so well that even Changbin seems to believe. And a part of him says it’s true, the one that has been fighting against his loud urges for a while, ever since he realized that Chan is not a one night stand, that Chan is not the past, or a memory, Chan is the present. 

“They’re fine, she told me how he treats her like a princess and how in love they were,” Did Chan lie to him or did she lie to Changbin? Which words are true? He hopes she was just bragging, that they’re not in love. The fact that Chan treats her well it has to be true, he treats people well all the time, he’s so good. The thought of Chan loving his fiancée makes his blood pressure low, his heart hurts. It brings him so many memories, how Jisung said how much he loved him and left because he loved someone else. Is Minho Chan’s little adventure?

Minho’s heart, which is already hurting, drops at the thought of Chan loving her, the thought of everything Chan says is a lie, a little prank he’s playing, a small adventure to experience himself. Minho is well aware they’re not permanent and that it is an adventure, but he wants Chan to love him after all, that he can admit. He wants to be the adventure that Chan finds “love where it hides”, at least Minho wants Chan to care, Chan to do everything he does exponentially, out of the blue, by the urges he holds within himself. And the thought that Chan doesn’t care, that Chan is playing, that he’s in love is hard, a burden he doesn’t like carrying. He closes his eyes, and bites his lip. There’s something coming in which he will regret, which will bring him an urge to throw himself off the balcony in shame. It drops. Minho takes a long breath and then bites his lip even more, dropping his head down to hide himself. 

“Stop bottling yourself. Let them out,” Changbin says and then reaches to touch Minho's perfect chin, pulling his head up and to look at him. Minho opens his eyes. He sees Changbin’s concerned face, blurred by the tears on his eyes, inside of him runs a river, a river he tries to block with concrete, a river that hits it’s barriers so violently it’s impossible it won't spill out. It does spill out, drops over, drops leave his eyes while he stays petrified there, he stares at Changbin and doesn’t make a move or a noise, tears that have been hidden deep down finally go out, running fast on his cheeks, wetting his beautiful soft face one by one, “I’m sorry,” Changbin says. It’s not his place to apologize, and it’s not Chan’s either, he remembers, he apologized for so many things he can’t control. 

“You shouldn't be,” Minho says, breaking his silence, his voice sounds like he’s talking under water, still with a strong tone, a sincere one. He might look desperate, and every little tear pouring out of his eyes like summer showers, proves it. But, he would never sound like he’s losing, that’s a privilege he can’t afford.

“I’m sorry because of you,” Changbin says then, stroking Minho’s cheek and brushing over the wet skin, “I don’t see you like that often,” Changbin admits and in the middle of Minho’s tears he chuckles unfunny, laughing at the situation since he doesn’t have any other reaction left. Minho can’t believe he’s crying, still, he knows he’s overwhelmed with that for a while, since the second time he saw Chan literally a month ago, his head has been completely full, only at ease when he has to work. There’s no safe space for him anymore, no place for his lone self to go and forget, there’s not enough drugs or partying to heal his brain. 

Minho also knows he never cries about his traumas, fears or from being overwhelmed, he cried for Jisung for 2 days, and tried to fit every single bottled up feeling, everything he suffered, all the lies and the words on 48 hours, never giving himself a chance to keep letting it out. He cried about his parents 3 times during his life, 3 short times, enough to make him free for a while, some hours, and then, recused the thought of drowning more inside himself. With Chan he never did, he never gave himself the chance to cry about their frustating situation, the way it brings him back to times he wanted to sit and cry for hours because he was not the starring role. Chan is good, his presence is recomfortanting, everything about him and him only is good. If you take everything but him out of the consideration it’s paradise, but hell and paradise are very complex, they’re paralels, they’re subjective, and as much as Minho feels like he’s walking in the clouds when Chan laughs, his conscience burn in the agonizing flames of hell.

“I thought I could leave my habits behind,” Minho whispers, Changbin moves his head reassuring and his eyes are small and sad, they have the power of relatability, they have the power of unity, Changbin feels with him, “I wish for once, to seek happiness,” Minho admits and probably for a while, that’s the biggest truth he ever told, for a while, this is the biggest of feelings and the biggest of thoughts. He’s incapable of looking for hapiness.

“You will, Minho,” Changbin says sincerly, brushing one tear away, Minho realizes Changbin’s hand is as wet as his cheeks, his tears burning the soft skin, “You can tell me every day that you don’t deserve it, but you do,” Changbin says so deeply, and every single word hits him inside, like a gentle pat. He wishes then to believe those words, to internalize then and start his journey.

“You know I’m no good,” Minho says, and he’s not lying, he knows Changbin is going to be reluctant to the truth, but him more than everyone knows, he’s not good. Minho is not the worse, he’s not perverse, he’s just not good, far from that. Minho tries to look as inhumain as possible, he looks for it, still he knows his rawness, his ablity of making mistakes and breaking hearts is human, it’s human traits, those traits people spend their lives to fix. Minho on the other hand, as much as he hates himself, his actions and his past, he doesn’t look forward to change, change is at times out of consideration. Minho has the constant thought of changing with time, but when he realized the consequences of his reckless choices, he finds himself in a place in which he’s hopeless, helpless, designed to be bad.

“You’re flawed, not bad,” Changbin reassured, and Minho almost laughs at the thought of him trying to reach perfection but holding the burden of being flawed, “You’re completely broken, Minho, and I can’t judge you, so I am,” Minho laughs now, not with the intent of showing playfulness actually is kind of macabre, there’s a line of morbidity, a tenue line between hopelessness and irony.

“I’m sorry I broke you more,” Minho whispers, the guilt he holds inside like he’s carrying a whole house inside of a backpack is heavy, his story with Changbin, not only the partying, not only the bad choices, but playing. Minho can forget some but not forgive, he doesn’t think that he will find forgiveness from himself, he doesn’t think his heart will stop and with him the apologies will be accepted. Minho has the feeling he’s taking the guilty to his grave, embracing his cold body, taking space inside his veins that are not bombing with fresh hot blood.

“Minho, we’ve been through that,” Changbin says in the middle of a sigh, he sounds tired, and he is, Minho can’t never stop asking him for forgiveness and he never will find enough, it doesn’t matter how much Changbin assures him it’s okay, it’s not. The consequences. The consequences of his actions, “I got over it already, you know that don’t you?” Changbin asks.

“I do,” Minho says, his tears are now dried, his agony and pain however, never leave, clogging his throat and burning his insides, he feels kind of nauseous even, “I didn’t,” Minho says.

“It’s not even your place to do so,” Changbin is sincere and it kind of hits, he’s right, he has nothing to get over, “I know also you’re very self centered,” Changbin once again throws him a hot ball that is very real, he likes that Changbin is honest about the things he doesn’t like about Minho’s personality, and as much as that can be kind of tricky, he never fails to tell him. If it wasn’t for Changbin’s hot balls, Minho would be lost. Seungmin is even more sincere, so sincere it cuts your skin, but Minho is used to it. But Changbin’s softness, his coomprension, that’s the problem. When you hear someone that is usually bitter tell you some that will punch you in the face, it’s okay, it’s predictable. Changbin though with all his carefulness, all his loving words, they hit Minho different.

“Yes, I’m hypocritical, self centered and egotistical,” Minho says like it’s nothing, because it kind of is. He’s self aware and maybe it would be better not to be, he wishes at times to be completely oblivious, pretend he’s perfect and go with it, living with lies. 

“I don’t think you’re egoistical,” Changbin says, “You’re auto sufficient, but people have feelings,” Changbin says and Minho nods, good point, “You have feelings too, as much as you try to hide them,” He says and Minho sighs, he indeed likes to hide.

“Feeling stuff is dumb,” Minho puts it simply, and a child would understand his conotation, there’s no other literal explanation, it’s dumb.

“Do you love us? Seungmin and me?” Changbin asks and Minho nods instantly.

“Of course I do,” Minho says, he loves them more than everything, more than fashion, more than power, even more than love. They saved his life, they’re his reason and his propouse. 

“Is that dumb for you?” Changbin says and Minho opens his mouth and closes, trying to argument over it. He overthinks.

“No,” Minho admits with no furder argumentation. Because it really isn’t, loving them and staying with them is the smartest choice he has ever made, his small child head was right to consider being friends with them, comforting a small crying Changbin and promising to never fight Seungmin were the most logical of ideas, even if they were emotional.

“Then it’s not dumb,” Changbin finishes his point, Minho is not very sure though, that won’t change his mind, since their situation is different, it’s family, “Do you like him, Minho?” Changbin sounds softer now, his lips are less tense and his gaze is sweeter. Minho finds himself confused with too many questions.

“I don’t know,” Minho says, and actually that’s sincere, he’s not trying to cut the subject or to sound vague. He doesn’t know. He wants Chan that’s obvious, he likes Chan as a person that’s obvious too, but if there’s more deeper and romantic conotations, that’s a mistery. Chan is someone that confuses him, giving him mixed thoughts, feelings and values, he doesn’t know if he likes Chan because he’s everything he wanted to be, if he likes Chan because he can’t have him, if he likes Chan because he’s needy and hopeless, or if he just really likes Chan, without any show, without any circumstances. 

“For the first time, I don’t know either,” Changbin says, refering to the way he always knows if Minho is telling the truth, “Do you want find out?” Changbin asks, more curious and laid back than before, naturally.

“I don’t know?” Minho says, he never thought of that, “I wish I could know, and at the same time, I want to pretend I don’t,” 

“Well, in my sincere opinion,” Changbin states, his hand leaves Minho’s face and he misses the embrace, but it’s not needed anymore, “You should at least know what you’re facing,” Changbin says simply, “And we are going to help,” Minho smiles at him foundly. 

“Thank you for that,” Minho says softly, his face that was once tense and frightened, now gets more of a calmer gaze, Changbin really knows how to make him feel less desperate, and that’s both good and bad, good because he needs that, bad because he’s emotionally dependent, too attached to his support, “I don’t know how to realize what type of feeling it is, I do have chances to try though,”

“Why?” Changbin asks curiously, he glares at Minho like something is up. He knows he’s thinking about their secret encounters.

“We agreed on being friends?” Minho says and it’s more of a question, because he doesn’t know how to handle a friendship, he never tried to befriend people that weren’t Changbin and Seungmin, and if he ever would do it probably wouldn’t be someone like Chan. Not with their relationship, not with the urges and desisres.

“I have no clue how this is going to work but it’s a start,” Changbin says and laughs at Minho’s situation, as angsty and difficult it is, Minho is aware of how funny it is too, he giggles. He likes how things turned from a sea of tears to ironic giggles and the overwhelming feeling of support. Minho gets the most amazing feeling of relief and ease for a while, the feeling that comes with the warmth of not being alone. 

“Bin,” Minho says, camly and softly calling his name, Changbin hums, “How did you know you were in love?” He asks sincerely, Changbin stops to think for a while, Minho stares as he looks up, looks to the side and then bites his lip. Minho regrets for a while, a difficult subject to touch on.

“Deep down, I knew it,” Changbin says, he’s not looking at Minho, but looking to his fingers and then a little up, “I knew it since I found out what falling in love is,” He says, his voice gets lower, and he plays with his fingers, “But it got worse and worse, missing, yearning, the need, the urge. And when my stomach got so overwhelmed with all the cliche butterflies I knew it was there to stay,” Changbin says even more quietly than before, Minho sighs, the soft feeling is not inside him anymore. He’s corrupted by some type of shame, he regrets ever asking. Or more, ever knowing Changbin fell in love.

“I’m so sorry,” Is the only thing Minho says, he does it quietly and since Dori has left his lap he crosses his legs. There’s an awkward silence before Changbin opens his mouth.

“Don’t, that’s not your fault,” Changbin says quietly, Minho blinks slowly.

“But everything else is,” 

They keep silent for a long time. Minho smokes like 10 cigarettes one after another and his throat is a little sore. The only thing that makes him calmer is nicotine, his brain goes very fast and that’s why he’s not into cocaine like most of the models he knows, he can’t handle his thoughts completely clean, with an upper drug it’s even worse. The less harmful of drugs he likes is Nicotine, it works for him, his brain is less faster and he feels more relaxed. The issue is that it lasts only for 3 to 5 minutes, probably not scientifically but Minho feels the urge of something between his fingers as soon as he realizes there’s nothing. He catched the addiction very quickly and very young and it followed him in his life, at times when Changbin and Seungmin weren’t there, the pack and every single of the twenty cigarettes was his best friend, and even now with Changbin, it is a small comfort. The cigarettes are his confidant, they stick around when he’s lonely, scared and empty, every way he goes. When he sits on the kitchen floor, and he’s helpless inside his room, when he’s looking at the sky on his balcony, inside some club somewhere and when he needs to fill the small gaps of silence in a conversation. 

Sitting there with his confidant between his fingers and his best friend on his side looking at the sky. Minho thinks of Chan, what he’s doing, if he’s okay, if he’s a liar and if Minho likes him. Sometimes he wanted to be inside Chan’s brain, unfolding every thought he has, every wonder and knowing random things about his day. Maybe being his friend is easier, instead of sexual tension and deep questions about feelings, Chan can tell him what he did on work, if it was boring, if he had any meeting. Minho would find it easy, knowing the futile and mediocre details, not getting to know his soul and falling more for it. He wishes to have met the Bang Chan company owner, not Bang Chan the shy, sweet and tattooed boy who loves music more than anything now. Contradicting his own thoughts. 

“I miss him,” Minho lets out in a whisper, Changbin stops looking at the sky and looks at him. Concern lingering on his gaze, Minho doesn’t look at him too, he looks at the fluffy clouds that look like Chan’s curly hair and must feel just like the skin on his immaculate body. 

“It’s scary isn’t?” Changbin says and lets out a small chuckle, like he knows all the secrets, like he can trace Minho’s feelings and relate to his, his feelings for Minho.

“The most frightening of things,” Minho chuckles too but his tone is far from playful, that statement is far from a joke, very, very far. It’s incredible how frightening it is to Minho, missing someone, missing someone you can’t call at any time and say come over, Minho misses people very rarely. 

“How is he?” Changbin asks, curiously, he stops staring at Minho and looks up to the sky again, “I mean, how is he like,” Changbin says again and Minho presses his lips together.

“He’s okay,” Minho says and he knows Changbin would glare at him if Minho were looking at his face, “He’s kind, charming and very pure,” Minho says like it’s nothing, because it is, there’s no connotation, actually it’s pretty easy to see, Changbin would realize that too. Of course Minho says that with more fondness than just nothing, Chan’s traits are very much appreciated, he at least knows and cannot lie to himself that he’s amousing, that he has a lot of qualities.

“Pure, huh?” Changbin says, Minho stares at the small grin on his lips annoyed. Changbin tends to be like that, he’s rather a teaser, he likes to make Minho uncomfortable and embarrassed when talking about small subjects, just because those two reactions are fairly difficult to get. Minho is very centered, tough and shameless, it should be actually pretty funny to see slight unease come from him.

“Yes,” Minho almost hisses at Changbin and his small grin, that fucking smirk. It’s actually better that way Minho thinks then, because it makes that lightweight, those words he said filled with the burden of Chan’s amazing personality, reduced to some fun bickering between best friends. And for a moment, Minho pictures himself just talking to Changbin about his school crush, that he admires from afar, that dumb crush that makes you embarrassed to talk about. Reality hits when Minho realizes his embarrassment comes from a place of shame, because his school crush is a grown up man, with a fiancée and expectations to follow.

“I wish I could ask more about him,” Changbin says and Minho arches his brow, confused at his friend’s words, not quite understanding where that comes from, “But, I know you don’t want to say anything. And I get that, I’m sorry,” Minho moves his feet uncomfortably, his head dropping slightly, he looks to the ground underneath him, and deep down he wants that ground to be demolished underneath his feet, to fall and fall, and to never have to face anything in life.

“Why are you apologizing?” Minho asks, rather annoyed actually, he hates that there's not a bone in his body that is okay with people that don’t have to apologizing to him. He wonders then, about Chan, his apologetic self and the way he feels the need to be sorry, to beg and humiliate himself for someone else, and Minho would never wrap his head around that type of behavior. Minho doesn’t get people that don’t have much pride, most people think that having too much pride is a flaw, that people should be like they want them to, empathic, apologetic. Minho thinks that’s bullshit, pride is everything he has, pride is what makes him stand still, unbothered about expectations and ups and downs, Minho then thinks about the way Chan’s lack of pride made him stuck in an unhappy life, doing things he doesn’t want. Minho doesn’t have much, he’s not very loved, but he has something Chan doesn’t have, freedom. 

“I’m sorry about you, what you have to go through again,” Changbin says and Minho uncrosses his legs and crosses it again, anxiously. He takes a long breath, and brushes his hands over the fabric of his robe, Minho doesn’t say much, he reaches to his pack, grabbing once again another cigarette, to feel it’s warm filter between his fingers, to feel the small bits of support and calmness coming from the nicotine he inhales. Minho needs more than just one best friend to feel like he’s allowed to feel anything whatsoever, to say anything he would rather keep buried inside his doll cold heart, locked inside it’s lock. 

“Don’t pity me, and even worse, don’t pity me for my own bad choices,” Minho says, he keeps his tone clear and rough, saying it sharply, he sees Changbin’s body tensing more, and his tenses too. He straightens his body, thinking that maybe if he’s completely locked in place he won’t be able to get lower and lower inside his feelings and thoughts, that if he stays straight, demonstrating some kind of strength, he would never be mistaken as a weak human who might be falling in love. And damn, the thought of falling in love sends shivers down his spine.

“It’s not pity,” Changbin says firmly, his voice who’s normally rather soft getting a more nasal tone, more harsh, “And I don’t think it’s much of a choice,” Changbin softens a bit, leaving behind a bit of that harsh tone, it sounds more like he actually does. Minho looks at Changbin, seeing the black straight hair of his almost covering his eyes, his sharp chin and the strength of his gaze. Minho gets some memories of staring at that face, and seeing much more than that, he remembers exactly how Changbin’s hair was longer and curvier, how his eyes never looked sad, and then, how everything crumbled, how those smalls eyes were filled with tears and how his bitch face was completely down. Minho’s throat clogs. 

“You, from all the people in the world, you know that I make choices,” Minho says, voice almost cracking as his throat feels even more clogged, as the waves inside his body get more and more violent, the ones who once weted the shore slowly, now are banging against it, destroying huge structures, “Everything, every single thing I did, I could have avoided,” 

“Yes, you could,” Changbin says straightforwardly, his tone becoming harsher again. There is indeed something about Changbin, and his strong wit, the way he worries, the way he’s soft spoken, that make the way he sometimes sounds as sharp as Minho more meaningful, “I’m telling you you can’t choose how to feel about things, you can’t choose how people feel about you, and I could even say you don’t choose not to be impulsive, because, even if you try your best to pretend you’re not, you’re a human, Minho,” Changbin says everything quickly, in a tone that seems to hurt. And it hurts Minho too, Changbin has so much inside him still, and Minho knows that. He knows Changbin’s words are sincere, yet coated with regret and the difficult action. The difficult action of forgiving, shifting the blame.

“I know,” Minho says, voice smaller, much smaller than ever before in that conversation, “I’m allowed to make mistakes, I really know that, but I’m tired…” Minho takes a very long breath, “Tired of breaking everyone around me, not only myself,” He finally says, Minho forcefully shuts his eyes, both his hand in a fist. The floor hasn’t collapsed, but he feels a hole opening underneath his feet, he feels the weight of his body falling down and down. It’s not like he pictured, because instead of falling away from all those things he has inside, it feels like they’re getting bigger and bigger, every second.

Before Changbin leaves that night, Minho almost asks him to stay, almost begging him to cuddle Minho and hold him tight and away from his phone. But Minho stopped telling Changbin to stay the night, a long time ago, the last time he did, Minho cried on his kitchen floor because Changbin's heart was racing while his wasn’t. The feeling of Changbin’s heart banging on his back, made Minho’s clench in pain, regret and shame. And when Changbin left the door, and with him the noise of chattering, breathing and laughter left too. Leaving Minho and the crushing silence around his body. Minho sat on his safe place, the cold floor underneath his body, he stared at his fridge. Minho bets on losing dogs.

The excruciating silence around him made him claustrophobic, like the walls of his huge kitchen were tightening around him, he felt huge, like Alice when she got bigger and bigger, until she was crushed inside a room that now was too big for herself. And just as Alice did, tears started rolling down Minho’s cheeks, and they rolled and rolled and he felt as the whole room was getting full of water, his tears drowning his body and making all his furniture swim around, and him being the lighter person inside that place, glued to the floor, unable to breathe, unable to stop his eyes from making the water get higher and higher. 

Minho felt the despair completely overwhelm his senses and he wants to scream, he wants to shout swear words, he wants to get up and break everything around him until every single piece of furniture is shattered on his floor just like his heart feels right now. It’s way too much, way, way too much for Minho to take. The way he has very clearly in his memory all the times he sat there and did the same, and now it’s so much worse. He’s not crying because Jisung told him he loved someone else and left the door behind him, it’s not because Changbin cried before leaving him too, or because he’s incapable of loving Changbin back, incapable of making his heart beat like Changbin’s, and after all those memories his head keeps playing over and over again, there’s Chan. Chan’s laughs, Chan’s apologies, Chan’s smell, his lips, his fingers, the way he touches him, his tattoos, and then, the ring on his finger. Minho never thought a piece of steel, with a small diamond would ruin his life, ruin his heart, would make him cry like a small child.

He never thought the sight of a ring would bring so much grief, so many feelings, so many distorted thoughts. He never thought that boy that sat on a bar under ugly lighting and handed him his coat would be the cause of incoherent tears and linger agony inside his body. Minho never once pictured that Chan and his easy ways, easy laughs, would be the most difficult thing he would ever face. He doesn’t understand how it was easy to catch feelings for him, and how hard those feelings are handled. If Minho could go back in time he would do things differently, he thinks, and then he realizes, he doesn’t want things to be different. Minho doesn’t want to live a life in which he and Chan never met, he doesn’t want to live without seeing him, as much as that hurts.

Minho gets up and walks around his house trembling, he almost falls about two times before finding his phone. He doesn’t know how he found Chan’s contact that quickly, he doesn’t look at the new messages that Chan sent him. He ignores all the odds and all the important things Chan must’ve said, he presses the phone icon, very quickly. And tears after tears roll down his face while he listens to the noise his phone does.

It takes three rings, just like it does with Changbin. 

“Minho,” A voice calls, a voice that is soft spoken and sweet, a voice that sounds just like honey, and it makes his ears feel the most incredible things. Minho stays silent, breathing heavily, eyes closed, tears rolling down, his face all crushed up, “Minho, are you okay?” Chan sounds startled, Minho is scared of saying anything, Minho is scared of crying more and more, Minho is scared of showing that he’s there on the other side of the line, even though Chan knows he is.

“Minho, please,” Chan sounds more desperate and Minho cries harder, he catches his breath before choking on his own tears, because he’s about to cry so hard he won’t be able to breathe, “Tell me you’re okay,” Chan’s voice never sounded like that. Minho never heard the true despair in Chan's tone that way, not even when he talked about the saddest aspects of his life, he never heard Chan talk to him like he was scared.

“Okay,” Is the only thing Minho can say, his voice cracking so much, and he cries and cries, he hears Chan’s breathing on the other side of line, then Chan makes a whiny noise and Minho’s whole body freezes, he never heard that too, “Chan, are you…” Minho tries to speak but he can’t, words don’t come to him.

“Yes, I am,” Chan says on the other side, heavy breathing between words, his voice now is exactly like Minho heard before, but worse, because now he doesn’t sound like he’s about to cry. He is crying. Minho gets even more desperate, he wants Chan to stop, he doesn’t want him to cry, that makes his pain get higher and higher, and he only cries more, now letting out some noises, that express his despair, his shoulders trembling and the guilt saying hello.

“Stop, stop, stop,” Minho says almost screaming, his voice is loud and quick, all those words leave his mouth with pain, terrible pain, that makes his limbs ache, his head now feels like the weight of the world is over him. Minho never felt that heavy, Minho never felt those feelings hit so intensely. Minho is rather intense, never feeling anything mildly or slightly, and even though he feels things intensely, nothing ever felt like that, like everything he went through was connecting and building a huge wall that shawolled him. Before he was feeling too big for his own room, and now, he’s small. Small like an ant and his roof never felt that far up.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Chan says quickly, stumbling on his words, almost stuttering, Minho hears him taking a long breath and then holding the air inside. 

“No,” Minho screams now, he feels embarrassed of his own voice, that desperate voice, high and out of control doesn’t belong to him, that’s not the Minho everyone knows, “I’m sorry,” Minho whispers and then chokes in his own words, he breathes desperately for a while, and then, opens his mouth, “I’m the one who should apologize, It’s me- Me,” Minho says, he’s out of control, completely out of control. There’s not a bone in his body that feels conscient, and the walls seem to get higher too. Minho wants to stop breathing, he doesn’t want to feel anything anymore, everything, everything hurts. 

“No, please, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Chan says sweetly, reassuring and Minho’s tears roll even more intestensly. Every time he thinks he cried enough and that he beated his own record, it escalates, it gets worse and worse, and he can’t control them anymore, he just feels the waves of pain and agony building up inside him.

“I shouldn’t have talked to you, I” Minho says then, and Chan does a small noise on the other line and Minho’s heart hurts, “I’m not good for you, I’m,” Minho is mumbling, like he’s drunk and it’s funny for him because he never felt so sober in his life.

“You are,” Chan says, sincerity burns Minho’s ears, “It me, Minho. I’m not good for you,” Chan sighs and Minho wants to scream, he wants to shout, he wants to shake Chan’s body and tell him it’s his fault, that everything is his fault, “I’m the one who’s engaged,” Chan says so low, so small, so quietly, almost like he’s scared of his own words. Minho opens his eyes, he stares blankly at the white wall in front of him.

“You have no choice,” Minho says, less desperate than before. It’s almost like a flip switched inside his body, telling the despair to leave completely. Only guilt stays inside, and Minho finds it so difficult to breathe.

“I do,” Chan says, “I’m just… Too scared to choose,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about any mistakes, I hope it’s enough. I’ll be back very soon.
> 
> Rainy.


	5. I bet on losing dogs (I know they're losing and I pay for my place, by the ring)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tell your baby that I’m your baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOO things are going to get juicy so nsfw warning here, for my horny fellas hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Minho is accepting things more, this a slow burn fic but I might tell you that the slow burn is still coming. 
> 
> I didn’t revise it because it so big and im actually pretty tired, so sorry about any mistakes my grammarly let out. hope this doesn’t disappoint you.

Minho slept on his couch, hopeless tears dried on his cheek. When Chan said something he couldn’t take he thought about finishing the call, he thought of telling him to fuck off, to stop telling lies, and he thought of telling him to stop everything, every single thing they had between each other. However, Minho said he was sleepy, he didn’t tell all his truths, all of those who were on the tip of his tongue, he chose the truth that would make things easy. He was sleepy, tired, he felt as he got beaten up until he almost lost his conscience, and in between whines and the soft breathing of Chan on the other line, Minho allowed himself to lose. He closed his eyes, cheeks wet and sticky, he crawled himself into a ball, a hopeless ball of full despair and as he felt the distant embrace of Chan’s presence he slept. He knows Chan said a lot of things when he was half asleep, he remembered the voice, the soft voice that sounded like crying whispering words to him. 

For once, at that single moment, when Chan said words Minho couldn’t hear, when he only heard the vibrations of his voice. Minho felt less empty, and an overwhelming feeling of fullness filled his heart, and maybe that’s what made his sleep came so easily. Not feeling the loneliness and the emptiness holding his pupils open, making him unable to get that relax, to let his head stop for a while. And when he was about to remember that this is not going to last, he entered the dark place, with his eyes closed the waves took his body to somewhere safe, inside Chan’s calm flames.

When Minho woke up, his headache was worse than on the other day, when he had drunk. The hangover of tears are stronger than the one with alcohol, his head is heavy, and his eyes struggled to open, too swollen. And once again, he wakes up in a haze, like he hasn’t slept in days, and since he can remember Chan, he felt like all his nights he closed his eyes and hours before opened them, without a bit of sleep. The only day Minho slept well was the one he was laying in a hotel bed, with Chan’s naked torso against his back, whispering lovely words that he thought wouldn’t be heard.

When Minho finally opens his eyes, he can’t move. His body is sore, and he thought for a while that he wouldn’t be able to move without crying out in pain. He hates all the days he feels like that. Minho realized, then, nostalgia lingering inside him, this happened before. Minho’s headache gets stronger as he thinks about the way years ago he felt exactly like that, because of Jisung. Jisung. Even his name makes his body combust in pain, it’s scary, frightening, Minho feels terrified, there’s not a bone in his body that thought he would feel that way once again. He thought months ago, he would never fall in love again, never cry again, never let someone break his bones with grief. He was wrong. 

Minho remembers the talk he had with Changbin, when he asked if he Minho liked Chan. He’s not sure, not completely though, but he knows at that point, the point of being sore, with his eyes swollen, cheeks feeling drier than ever, that maybe, he does. Still, his brain can’t piece together, how or why, or even when Chan became so huge in his life. He doesn’t know why it was so quick or if it’s new or old, but his body craves Chan’s presence, more than he craved anything in his life.

His brain gets filled with rage, he’s angry with himself, his heart, and all the circumstances that keep them apart. He’s tired of wondering how things would be if Chan didn’t have all those responsibilities, all those expectations, all those things, the fiancée, the parents, the company. If he was just Chan. And he wants to pretend those things don’t exist, he wants to lay in bed with him and hold his body until it’s time for him to assume his position of fiancée, company owner and the proud son. 

Maybe in their friendship, they can just pretend to be long time friends that look up for each other and cuddle sometimes. Just like he is with his two best friends. And then, things would be easy, if Chan fell in love and Minho didn’t, Changbin’s situation would happen again, but he could do everything differently. And he could even try like he did with Changbin, because Chan wouldn’t be engaged.

But Chan is, he is engaged, he’s not his long time friend, not someone he can try to love that way, because that situation is not the truth. And because he already does, he already likes him romantically. As much as he tries to deny it. He does, and there’s not much he can do. He finds himself trapped between the right thing to do and the fear of losing Chan forever. Because he knows that if he does the right thing, he has to lose him again, he has to forget the way his name sounds perfectly leaving Minho’s mouth, he has to forget how silky his skin is, and how comfortable Minho feels around him. 

And he doesn’t know why the thought of leaving Chan is more painful than being his dirty secret, he doesn’t understand why he rather suffer because Chan can’t be his than not have him at all. Why is his body filled with agony when his thoughts focus on them apart. That’s not Minho, he’s not like that, he thought before, after Jisung happened, that he rather die alone than be the second choice, and now he’s lost inside his own hypocrisy, the lies he told himself and himself only. That makes Minho ashamed, ashamed of himself, he feels disgusted at himself for doing exactly what he promised he wouldn’t do.

But then again, it’s Chan. 

Chan, curly hair dancing over his forehead, soft and plump red lips, rose colored cheeks, silky addicting skin, sunny smiles and laughs, summer warmth and kind eyes. Chan’s muscles, Chan’s tattoos, his soft voice, whispering love confessions on Minho’s ears. Chan is everything, everything Minho wants, everything he thought he would ever need, everything he can’t have. Chan. 

Minho doesn’t care about the pain when he gets his torso up, keeping his weight over his arms. When he looks around he doesn’t find an oddly familiar hotel room, he doesn’t find an oddly familiar scent. He’s laying on his couch alone, and his arms are almost failing at holding his body up. He’s there alone, more alone than ever, with nothing to hold into. He almost feels like crying again, he wants to cry until he’s tired again and sleeps, he wants to sleep forever, if he could sting his finger and be held into the warm embrace of sleep just like sleeping beauty did. But Minho doesn’t have a curse, his only curse is his own thoughts, Minho doesn’t have a prophecy to follow, a prince waiting to kiss him until he’s awake, he has nothing but his miserable life and his cats. He’s not deserving of a fairy tail, of being saved, being happy forever and after. 

Minho is so far away from a princess, and he told Chan that when they first met. He has the beauty and the grace, he looks like one outside, with his breathtaking looks and luxurious ways, inside is different. Minho is flawed, broken, a heartbreaker, unhappy, empty and unloved, Minho is the anti-hero. The one you hate but can’t help but love at times, not as hateable as a villain, not as loved as the hero, he’s everything in between. 

He forcefully closes his eyes, and then that way avoiding his own sight he sits down on his couch, and after a few lazy moments, finally gets up. He opens his eyes and focuses on his feet, he stares at his naked feet touching the cold superficie of his floor, he walks straight to his kitchen, he doesn’t dare look at the place he was yesterday. The place he knows well, the exact place he sat on a lot of times before, more than he wanted to. He focuses on seeing if his cats are fed. They’re not. Minho reaches for the huge package of cat food, and fills the blue, the pink and the purple containers. He hears Soonie make noises and then the small noises of their collars coming towards the kitchen, he sits there on the floor again, until three cats arrive from the door. Soonie goes straight to his food, ignoring her owner, Doongie brushes her body against his legs and then goes to eat, Dori is the most lovely of them. She purrs softly and meows at him while asking for pets. Minho pets her head softly and lands a kiss in between her ears before she eats too.

He stares a long time at his cats eating, to make his heart less lonely, they’re adorable there eating side by side and Minho thanks the universe for having them. People normally say cats are not good companies, that they don’t care, Minho thinks differently. Cats have that thing about them, they’re silent best friends, they stick around and don’t ask much, Minho doesn’t feel lonely and at the same time doesn’t feel the need to provide constant attention. Minho is not very good at providing much attention, he’s self centered, he likes his alone times and he likes to be by himself. And as the big hypocrite he is, he hates being alone. It’s a double standard, hating to keep someone around but fearing loneliness more than anything. 

When Minho leaves the kitchen he decides to go back to the couch he was before. He picks his phone and realizes that he overslept again, more than he did the day before, it’s almost 5pm and he has no clue how he slept so much. He thought when he woke up that day that it was the morning still, it felt like just a few hours. Being that tired is something quite scary, he’s a morning person, he sleeps just enough to survive, and at times he doesn’t even sleep. And the scariest part is feeling like he didn’t sleep that night, but still he has been on that couch for more than 10 hours. Crying hangovers are much worse than alcohol ones indeed.

He unlocks his phone and stares at the apps he has, not feeling like opening any of them, but he doesn’t want to do anything other than alienate himself with something mildly. He decides to click the messages icon, he stares at Changbin’s contact that is first, there’s about 15 messages from him, Seungmin’s is right underneath with only three, his manager has sent him 45, but he’s not on his working days so fuck him, there’s some random people and then. Unknown Number, 5 messages. He decides to open them in order.

Binnie:

Are you okay?

Binnie:

I’m worried, you’re missing.

Binnie:

I miss you already.

Binnie:

Please answer me when you can.

Binnie:

Minho

Binnie:

Are you okay?

The other ones are him saying how worried he is. Minho feels incredibly warm reading what Changbin sent him. Maybe the things he appreciates most in the world is to have someone that worries about him, because no one did. His family was completely distant, and now even more than before, when he was a kid they liked to know if Minho was doing well in school and only that. Growing up they used to ask Seungmin if Minho was still hanging out with boys and as an adult they’re only connection is his surname. 

Minho:

Fine! Just overslept. 

Minho:

I miss you too. 

He puts it simply, he doesn’t want to tell Changbin what happened just now. He doesn’t want anyone to know, and he hates himself because Chan knows. Because Chan was there, Chan listened, cried and talked to him, he can’t help but wonder if Chan thinks he’s weak now, if Chan sees him as a crying mess or the strong Minho he met. His biggest wish is for Chan to see him as someone strong, brave and shameless, someone that would never break. He wants everyone to see him like that, but Chan is far more important. He can’t take Chan seeing his weakness, knowing he is Minho’s weakness, because he has to hold on to his persona. If he doesn’t he will fall more, he will show Chan he’s capable of loving him back. 

Minnie:

Just one more day, finally!

Minnie:

I don’t stand my partner, I had to kiss girls, Minho. This is beyond disgusting.

Minnie: 

Can’t wait to hang out with you guys again. 

Minho laughs, Seungmin is bitter, completely bitter, he has a spicy personality, and Minho doesn’t like spicy things. But he loves Seungmin, he loves Seungmin more than anything and he will forever enjoy the spicy and bitter taste of Seungmin. Minho has a sweet tooth, he enjoys being around people that compliment his bittersweet ways. And Seungmin is enough to make him more of himself, to understand and like his bitterness.

Minho: 

Can’t wait to hear you complain for hours.

And he isn’t lying at all. Changbin has fulfilled most of his needs for a friend, still Seungmin is very missed by him. Seungmin is far from complementary, and that’s exactly the magic around his astonishing presence. There’s things he knows only Seungmin is able to tell him, there’s a comfort Seungmin is the only one capable of giving. And even if he has to hear him complain for hours Minho will be filled with the purest joy. Seungmin is a complaining bitch, and he loves him for that, Minho doesn’t love him only because of what he represents, or his help, Minho loves him exactly the way he is, a complaining bitch with diamond chokers.

It comes the time he tries to avoid, Chan is next in the list, with his number that Minho doesn’t want to save to his phone, it would be too easy for him to commit mistakes if everything that takes is typing his simple name. It would be so easy for Minho to fall into his own desires without putting in the second thought before finding his contact. He’s reluctant to even read his number a lot, because he’s way too good with numbers, and he knows it doesn’t take very long for him to remember it exactly. He stares at the 3 messages there, and he decides to do breathing exercises before clicking it. He breaths in and out, inhaling as much air as he could possibly take inside his lungs. And then after some minutes, he finally clicks on it. 

Unknown Number:

Hi

Unknown Number:

Feeling better? 

Unknown Number:

I really want to see you.

The last text sends shivers down Minho spines. He throws his phone away from his hands and it lands over a pillow, he does breathing exercises again. Everything is so wrong. “Hi” is okay, he’s just saying hi, but then it gets so wrong. He shouldn’t know Minho wasn’t well last night, he shouldn’t know Minho is capable of crying, capable of despair and hopelessness, he shouldn’t know Minho needed to talk to him. And Minho finds himself regretting, which became most of his days, most of his thoughts, he has never felt so many regrets. From all his crimes, all his mistakes none of them made him carry a burden that is heavier than himself, none of them made him doubt himself, his intelligence, his persona, none of them felt so right before. And that’s the most frightening thing of them all, that Chan sounds just right, that Chan is for him the best of crimes he has ever committed, that Chan is the reason why his sense of justice is corrupted.

And then, the wrongest and the rightest of those words run through his mind. Chan wants to see him, Chan really wants to see him. He hates every single word, he never thought the alphabet would bring him so much hatred, so much fear, but right now that doesn’t seem like something weird at all, spelling those words inside his brain, makes his body shiver in anger. And the thing that makes him even more angry, the thing that burns inside him, that makes his blood boil is that. He wants to see Chan too, he really wants to see Chan. He wishes for a moment to be able to break Chan’s heart the same way he did with Changbin, not feeling it back. Not wanting it back. He wants Chan’s heart to be the only one beating fast. But those loud bangs inside his body tell him otherwise. 

Chan is familiar, he knows he felt all those things before. He lived those things before, still, everything inside him feels new, like a first love, first heartbreak. He approaches Chan’s situation knowing what happened with Jisung, knowing the pain, and still his heart acts like he’s naive, like he’s dumb, like he didn’t learn anything. And it’s frightening thinking that maybe he didn’t learn shit, even though he knows how it ends, he wants to keep trying. Which is probably the most naive thing he has ever done. Minho picks up his phone. 

Minho:

Free? 

He types and sends without even thinking, when his brain clicks and he’s about to delete it, the words “read” shine. Like Chan was staring at their messages too, like he was anxious to know what Minho would say. And maybe he was, and he shouldn’t be. Chan doesn’t play by Minho’s rules and it stresses him deeply, the way Chan is used to doing the right thing even though he’s unhappy, but when it comes to Minho he ignores all the rules. That type of behavior is normal for Minho to do, he hates all rules, world rules and his own rules, him being stupid and doing something completely wrong is actually something that doesn’t surprise him, he’s not good. Chan on the other hand, he’s good, he plays by the rules, everything Chan chooses for himself is something someone else wanted. Minho hates that trait, but he wishes to be a victim of that trait, he wants Chan, the one who’s good, to flee, to leave him behind, do Minho’s rules and the world rules

But then, Minho thinks that if Chan does what people want, he’s not wrong at wanting Minho. Because all his rules went to shit when he called Chan crying, all the right things are now sleeping inside him while the bad ones light a flame inside his body. If Chan does what Minho wants, they would be together. If Chan wants to feel like Minho does, they’re something. Minho closes his eyes forcefully and punches his own head 3 times, whining at himself. Why does he have to be such a hypocrite? He asks himself over and over, until his phone vibrates on his lap. He opens his eyes and stares forward, to a big portrait of himself at his wall, such a narcissistic thing to have hanging around his house he thinks. But then again, he doesn’t have much but himself, his work and his friends, and everything he wants to have is out of touch. 

Minho stares at his phone then, after wondering about his loneliness.

Unknown Number:

For you, always. 

Minho lets out a big sigh, why is Chan like that? Why is Chan so loveable? Why does Chan want him? He doesn’t have anything to offer, he can’t give him anything more than his body. He can’t give Chan love, or have Chan’s love, he can’t make him happy, they can’t have a future. Why is Chan like that? If he has nothing to give. 

Minho:

Cheesy. 

Minho:

Where?

Chan is so quick at seeing and reading messages and it stresses him deeply, so deeply it hurts. He wants Chan to be cold and distant, not only because it makes it easy for him to dislike him, but because the way Chan acts is overwhelming, he feels warmth, he feels good. And he shouldn’t. Minho knows he should be disgusted, stressed, that he should hate seeing someone like him, especially if they’re not his and can’t be his. And then again he’s not deserving.

Unknown Number:

Can I go to your house? 

Minho:

Why? 

Unknown Number:

It’s easier

Minho:

It’s not safe. 

Unknown Number:

I don’t care…

Minho: 

I do. You know reporters know my place right?

Unknown Number:

Sometimes I forget you’re very famous

Minho:

Sadly, I don’t

Unknown Number:

My place, then.

Minho:

And your fiancée?

Unknown Number:

We don’t live together

Minho:

Why?

Unknown Number: 

If you come i

Minho:

Manipulation, uh?

Unknown Number:

Just.. come over.

Minho:

Fine.

It’s funny how close Chan lives, Gangnam is not such a big neighborhood and Minho knows that, still Chan and Minho are worlds apart, completely different lives, careers, personalities, but they live 15 minutes away from each other. Minho knows every corner of Chan’s street, he has seen the huge skyscraper he sleeps in every night, and something clicks inside his brain, Chan was close, so close he could walk there, and he met him in a different country. Minho thinks then if that could be a work of destiny, if maybe they were meant to meet, and then he realizes, there’s no destiny for him. That if he and Chan are destined, the universe just created it’s most ironic story. Two men 15 minutes apart from each other meet in another country, to be so close, and so far. And it’s even funnier that in Paris, they had a chance. And now, they’re an impossible match.

He’s in full disguise, he’s not even wearing a crop top, which is his trademark. Chan will probably find it funny, seeing Minho in a normal t-shirt, covering his pretty hair with a cap and wearing a simple mask. The leather addiction though, Minho doesn’t let go, he’s wearing leather pants and a leather jacket that is too big from himself. Of course Chan lives in the last apartment, Minho realizes he has something about being on top, with all his hotel choices and his own home. He has the password from the building door, and the guy in guarding the door looks at him weird, but doesn’t say anything.

His building looks just like a hotel, big stairs, pretty chandeliers, three sets of elevators, Minho chooses the middle one, he clicks on the 13th floor and then realizes, Chan has 2 fucking floors for himself. When he arrives at Chan’s floor, he doesn’t have to walk around much before finding his door. He clicks the doorbell and the noise startles him, his body gets filled with anxiety, because he’s going to see how Chan’s house looks like, because he’s going to smell Chan all over and because Chan is there, waiting for him. A dog barks and he hears steps getting closer to the door, surprised and anxious, Minho closes his eyes. 

“Brutus, mind your own business,” Minho hears, Chan sounds like a kid when he tries ordering someone around. He hears a dog running, “Minho,” Chan’s voice is soft, hopeful even, and there it is, hearing Chan say his name. Minho opens his eyes. 

He‘s looking down. He’s wearing black sweatpants and he’s barefoot, and Minho almost laughs at himself because he finds Chan’s feet cute, and he’s far away from liking feet. Minho looks more up and his shirt has “Cry Baby” written on it, the black of his shirt is kind of worn out. When he looks at Chan’s face, something inside him hurts, he stares at his plump lips, the slight blush on his cheeks and nose, and his black curls cover his eyes, his hair is kind of messy, but they seem very soft. Minho feels a weird urge to throw himself into Chan’s arms, to hold him close, and he tries to think it is because he seems comfy and warm dressed like that. He doesn’t move a muscle.

“Chan,” Minho almost whispers, sounding more foundly than he should. He tries his best to act cool after that, making sure his face is as blank as a new piece of paper, still, his urges can’t be controlled inside his body, making him anxious.

“Come in,” Chan says, leaving a space between himself and the door, just like he did the last time they saw each other, passing right beside Chan he felt his warmth very lightly, as he felt his presence too, and the way he smells. He smells more like citrus that day, even though his regular perfume is also there.

Minho enters the house very carefully, awkwardly even, he’s not used to going to someone’s house, he has been in very few apartments in his life. And it’s so huge, and kind of fun, Chan might like decorating, he has a fucking huge lava lamp, his apartament has huge walls of glass all over, giving a perfect vision of his street, he has huge sofas, a bar at the corner and the division to his kitchen that is designed american. It’s a dark apartment, Chan doesn’t seem to like bright lighting or bright colors, since most of his walls are either black or grey, he has some superhero stuff and books at one of the corners, and a huge ass tv. His apartament looks like you gave a million dollars to a emo nerd. 

“Interesting,” Minho says looking around and Chan giggles behind him, coming a little closer to him, who stands in the beginning of the apartment, “A lava lamp?” Minho teases and Chan giggles again, moving forward standing right beside Minho, who looks at him, while he puts a hand behind his head awkwardly.

“I’m highly inspired by Shark Tale,” He says awkwardly and Minho starts laughing looking at him with the most incredulous face, Chan stares at him giving him an uncomfortable smirk.

“The movie for kids?” Minho asks, still completely surprised, wanting that to be a joke. Chan smiles and closes his eyes, shyly he nods his head.

“I was a kid in 2004, Minho,” He says and Minho laughs at him again, Chan is so dumb. So pure. It’s sweet the way he designed his apartment based on his kid dreams. He sometimes can’t believe someone like Chan exists, that someone can be that cute, that pure and that hot at the same time. 

“I can’t believe you’re one year older than me,” Minho teases and Chan giggles, slightly pushing Minho’s arm. It’s such a normal touch, so kind and playful, but Minho’s body burns with the sudden touch. It’s actually pretty comfortable, having Chan play around with him like that, and if it wasn’t for the magnetic attraction he has, that would feel like the most friendly of touches. 

“Shut up,” Chan says, so softly it’s almost like walking in clouds, Chan’s eyes glimmer softly and Minho can’t say that’s because of the lights, since the room is mostly dark. He kind of hates at times the way Chan’s eyes shine so beautifully, how innocent those eyes are, and how expressive they are too. Minho smirks at him, while he watches the light redness of his cheeks getting a little more deep.

Minho loses his awkwardness after that, and walks around like he’s at a hotel room. And he knows he isn’t because he sees pieces of Chan all around, he sees some paintings around, most of them are conceptual, there’s a lot of pictures around too, some of them Chan looks incredibly small, probably childhood ones. He goes to this huge shelf, the top one has action figures, in most he doesn’t really know who they are, he recognizes the most famous ones, and some Harry Potter characters. He watches the shelf underneath it, which is filled with books, there’s poem books, a lot of romance ones, he has Romeo and Juliet there too, and of course all the Harry Potter ones. Under that one Minho watches the way he has a big collection of mangás, which keeps showing how Chan’s nature is soft and childish. Under that there’s 3 shelves of music, he sees a lot of kpop, pop, classic rock, he has a pretty diverse musical taste, maybe because he has to have, since he enjoys music so much. Minho is that way with fashion too, having a huge liking and respect for all types of fashion, he thinks that you have to respect everything and know about everything before actually proceeding to do your own. 

He hears Chan walking around the house, and he reads the names of the albuns in his head, processing new information. They don’t talk about mundane things, or stuff they simply like, that is something Minho realizes now watching closely the things Chan seems to enjoy. The most mundane of things they discussed is actually one of the biggest, Chan’s liking for music. Which normally could be small talk, but he knows for Chan that’s the most important of things. It’s interesting how Minho makes friends differently, not that he was planning to be Chan’s friend, but he realizes about himself, that he rather knows the deepest secrets of a soul, not the stuff that soul loses time doing. 

Chan approaches him, and he feels his presence getting closer. He stares over his shoulder to find that comfy being behind him, holding two fancy cups of whiskey. Minho smiles before turning around and grabbing the one cup that is slightly closer to him.

“Trying to get me drunk again?” Minho asks, with a playful grin on his lips. Chan smiles at him, eyes closing, dimples showing, and Minho’s grin starts to get even bigger, almost forming a smile. 

“You weren’t supposed to realize,” Chan says faking a disappointmented tone and letting out a sigh right after his words, and Minhi holds his laugh. It’s so flirty, and Minho thinks that this might be a little dangerous, so he keeps a silence between them, taking one sip of his whiskey. 

“Care to explain about the thing we texted about?” Minho says, one eyebrow up, his tone is far from friendly but doesn’t sound mean, just intrigued yet sharp. Chan’s face gets a little more serious. Some people are known for lighting the mood, bringing something comfortable to it, Chan is exactly like that. But Lee Minho, he’s the opposite, Minho is very well known for darkening the mood, making things raw and difficult. Being comfortable to Minho is mediocre, even weak, for people that can’t handle the truth, and with that can’t handle life in general. 

“Can we sit down?” Chan says, his tone is low, embrassed even, that’s a reaction Minho likes taking from people, a little bit of hopelessness coming from someone else is something he shouldn’t but enjoys. Minho nods, and follows Chan to his couch, he keeps safe distance between them, sitting sideways in the couch with his legs crossed, Chan sits normally, even a little stiff.

“Well,” Chan starts, with a firm tone, trying to set the mood, and Minho stares a him carefully, tracing every reaction, sharp cat eyes with a curious gaze, “Me and Jihyo,” He says, and Minho’s blood boils a little, this is the first time Chan refers to her with her name, and he can’t explain the sudden discomfort he feels, “We don’t want to live together,” He puts it simply, even after all that suspence on the subject.

“What about the engagement?” Minho asks, more curiously, he wraps his hands together and moves a little more closely, staring at Chan who moves kind of uncomfortably in the couch. He seems like he really doesn’t want to talk about her, Minho doesn’t know exactly why, a lot of responses come to mind.

“We’re engaged, but honestly, we don’t keep a relationship,” Chan says, quietly, Minho is still curious why that conversation sounds so uncomfortable to Chan, “I take her for dinner some times a week, we see each other around the company too,” Chan doesn’t look at Minho, but Minho stares very deeply at him, watching his hands being a little anxious, his lips pressed in a thin line, the way he moves his legs slightly at times.

“That’s it? Purely business?” Minho asks very carefully, scared of a response that isn’t yes, but he hides that fear well, even though Chan is avoiding his gaze, he can’t slip out any kind of feeling whatsoever.

“Basically, yes,” Chan says, uncomfortable, so uncomfortable even Minho feels a little awkward, “I was actually supposed to take her to dinner today,” He says, and finally stares at Minho. Eyes round and shining, head a little down and cheeks red, he has a hopeful kind of gaze, Minho doesn’t get it.

“And you didn’t?” Minho asks, getting a little more close, blinking slowly and curiously, with a tone strong and sharp still. Chan scratches his head and adjusts his body on the couch, Minho stares at him from head to toe.

“No,” Chan says simply, his head slightly bending to the side, tiny eyes shining while they’re focused on Minho’s big eyes, like that soft gaze is staring deep in his soul, trying to find something. Something he doesn’t get, because Minho’s face stays blank, the only thing different is his slow blinking. 

“Why?” Minho asks slowly, giving a clear tone to his words, like he’s teaching a kid. His voice is more low now, he knows what might be coming from that talk, and he gulps, Chan looks at him with a soft grin.

“Because I wanted to see you,” Chan says, almost in a whisper, softly, sweetly, his eyes now shine more than they ever did, and Minho’s heart races. He looks away quickly and then looks back at Chan, fighting every part inside his body that is satisfied with those words, every part of him that feels glad and warm. Every part of him brags because Chan chose him. Minho gulps but tries his best to keep his face impartial.

“You remember what we agreed on?” Minho asks, he tries his best to not sound sharp or aggressive, because he’s trying to be less defensive about it, he knows that his defensive words would sound like hatred or even worse, embarrassment. Chan’s head gets a little down.

“Friends,” He whispers and Minho nods, Chan lets out an uncomfortable giggle. Minho holds back a sigh, because he knows that hurts Chan, and he hates hurting Chan, and he knows also that if Chan’s is hurt, he is too. That idea of friendship too, Minho doesn’t like it.

“Yes…” Minho says, more softly, “Friends,” Minho lets out, and he hates how that doesn’t sound right, because it should, it should sound so right.

“Where’s your helicopter?” Minho says out of the blue changing the subject, Chan looks up at him, his face that used to be sad now looks extremely confused. Mission accomplished.

“What?” He asks and lets out a confused giggle, that sounds right, Chan is alright. Minho is so glad he’s alright.

“You’re literally Christian Grey, I’m just waiting for the helicopter ride,” Minho says smiling with his closed mouth, playful gaze and soft mannerisms, Chan laughs. His laugh is contagious but Minho is careful, he’s enjoying having control of himself.

“Sorry to let you down, but as I said before I’m Christopher,” He says, playfully, placing his tongue between his teeth, Minho stares at his lips quickly and then looks back at his glimmering eyes, Minho now smiles. Chan looks at him with that famous face that always draws confusion.

“Where’s the fun then?” Minho jokes and Chan giggles, Minho hates how comfortable he feels, he hates those sparks of joy inside his soul, he’s not very used to that. 

“I guess I’ll try my best,” Chan says fondly, and flirty. Minho wants to tell him to stop, stop being so flirty, he’s not the best behaved when things get flirty. Minho has to switch the mood again.

“Chan,” Minho calls and Chan stares at him curiously, “I didn’t ask, do you and Jihyo,” Her name leaves a bitter taste on Minho’s mouth, “Do you guys do romantic stuff?” He asks vaguely, waiting for Chan’s response, he gets very shy very quickly, the tint on his face slightly reder again. 

“What do you mean?” Chan says in the middle of a nervous laughter, Minho enjoys where it’s going. Minho spent years perfecting the art of defending himself by putting someone else in a tricky situation, he’s very good at it, but sometimes some people don’t do what he wants, Chan though, is very easy to persue. 

“Kissing? Having sex?” He asks very simply like that’s not a big thing, or a big invasion of privacy. He knows it is because Chan looks all over the place, shy, embarrassed and anxious. He kind of regents asking, but he actually wants to know. 

“We,” Chan says, with a tone so embarrassed, even worse than he looked when they had the kink conversation, and it’s funny actually, how those things sound like such a taboo to Chan, because Minho actually wouldn’t have a problem with it, “We don’t do anything,” Chan says then, and takes a long breath, “I.. Don’t do anything,” He says then, in a whisper, and now Minho can’t help but want more. 

“What do you mean?” Minho gets further into the subject, he even moves his whole body closer like someone else can hear their conversation, like that’s a top secret subject. And it actually seems to be to Chan, because he gets even more uneasy, his gaze almost looks frightened. 

“I’m not doing those things now,” Chan sounds vague, hesitant, and Minho gets very little information to that. And poor Chan because Minho wants to know everything and he’s not a little bit reluctant to ask.

“Because you’re engaged?” Minho asks more carefully, not because he has to be, but because he’s using his persuasion to get all the truths. Minho knows his actions are not good, he knows he shouldn’t be like that, but he doesn’t think his intentions are bad though. Maybe not the purest or the best, but Minho’s intention is to make everything clear between them.

“Kinda,” Chan says weirdly, Minho half closes his eyes suspiciously, “That must be a reason I’m not doing much right now…” Chan says slowly, “But I didn’t do much before, either,” He then says and Minho frowns. He’s kind of confused now, the options of what he might be saying sounding incredibly absurd. 

“So you never had a girlfriend? Or boyfriend?” He doesn’t really know Chan’s sexuality, and neither does Chan he thinks. He probably never had a boyfriend, but Minho doesn’t want to assume anything. And he kind of wishes that Chan had someone before, a boy to be more specifically, because he doesn’t want to be Chan’s first, he deserves more. 

“No,” Chan says simply, vaguely again, it’s getting difficult for Minho not to be invasive, he’s really trying actually, failed attempts, but at least he’s trying. 

“You never had one nights stands?” Minho asks, not going straight to the point, because he’s trying, really trying, to be more careful at this point. He got to a subject, to a truth he didn’t think he would. He thought Chan would say that he has sex with her, or maybe that he doesn’t but has sex with other people. He doesn’t say any of those.

“Definitely not,” Chan says and laughs off, Minho smirks at how cute he delivers his words, “I don’t even talk to random people, having sex with them sounds insane,” He says, and Minho is incredibly focused on how Chan acts, how he’s a odd one. No one Minho met is like that, he doesn’t know if he only knows promiscuous people or if Chan is just incredibly innocent.

“You talked to me, though,” Minho whispers, that’s a realization he wanted to sugarcoat and ignore, he was about to ignore when those words came to his mouth:

“You were different,” Chan says, simply and when Minho frowns he clears his throat, staring at Minho’s confused face, “At the beginning, I mean my first thought was that you were shaking, and then I looked at you,” Chan says, Minho gulps, he never felt so nervous in his life, he should’ve said that, he was supposed to sugarcoat it, and he regrets not ignoring, “Honesty, you’re the prettiest person I ever seen,” Chan’s eyes shine, so beautifully, so dreamy, Minho bites his lips to stop a smile.

“I know,” He says, letting out a small smirk, Chan smirks back, his left dimple showing, he always notices them for too long, like he was waiting to see them, “Then, if you don’t have night stands… With who do you have sex?” Minho changes subjects, coming back to the one before Chan complimented him. Back to making someone but himself uncomfortable.

“No one,” Chan says more firmly, maybe he got a little more confident, and Minho is not sure he likes it. He stares at Chan very carefully before asking.

“No one.. Like ever?” Minho asks, he sounds incredulous, because he is, he can’t believe Chan never had anyone, he’s older than Minho, very hot, everything someone would want. 

Chan’s cheeks get extremely red, and he giggles nervously, maybe Minho was right, damn, “Yeah,” He whispers, and Minho gasps in shock. He literally never met someone older than 18 that is still a virgin. He remembers then, the way Chan was so sensible the last time around, how he shivered, responded, how Minho even thought he was pubescent. He feels kind of guilty then, because he took some steps with Chan that he shouldn’t have. The thought that he could’ve been Chan’s first without even knowing haunts him.

“Care to tell me why?” Minho asks, very softly, making sure Chan knows it’s a choice not an order. He’s glad he hasn’t got to the 3rd base with Chan, that at least that he was smart, he tries to hide in his questions an apology, for touching him that way, he wants to apologize to Chan’s head too, because he considered having Minho be his first. That’s a rule Minho has to be sure he won’t break, he really regrets losing his virginity to someone who wasn’t deeply in love with him, someone who he was dating, or trusted. He wants Chan to fall in love, have a happy life, and his first to be the love of his life. That kind hurts thinking about Chan being happy and in love with someone else, Minho can’t ignore that he’s rather possessive, but he knows that he’s incapable of giving him that. 

“You don’t find it weird?” Chan asks, insecurity on his gaze, a slight shame in his voice, Minho wants to punch him in the face.

“Kinda, still, I wish I kept myself too,” Minho admits, and Chan’s opens his mouth, nodding his head understanding what he’s up to. That looks completely adorable, Minho hates it. 

“I’m glad you don’t think I’m a weirdo,” Chan says softly, bending his head to the side, he looks so innocent at times that Minho forgets he’s older, and even feels a little guilt for being so attracted to such a pure being, “I like it and I hate it too,” Chan says, he looks at his hands for a while, “I like that I can choose wisely, and I hate because I feel like I’m weird,” He stops abruptly, his cheeks get red again, it’s so complicated to Chan that he’s so fair, because he cannot hide embarrassment, “I don’t know how to say it, but I want to do it,”

“You’re horny,” Minho says, laughing at how sweet Chan sounds at times, every time he talks about sex and such he’s so nervous about it, and so deeply embarrassed, it’s adorable yet concerning, Chan nods at him, “Why these things make you so embarrassed?” Minho asks, and Chan pouts to think, he looks up and then back to Minho.

“I don’t know, I was never allowed to be,” He does quotes on the air, “Sexual,” He says, carefully, “And I grew up very embarrassed of being,” Quotes again, “Sexual,” Minho laughs at his mannerisms.

“You were such a good kid, I think I told you that before,” Minho says, in a complimentary tone, with a slight underline of sadness, because he thinks being a good kid is good, but at Chan’s extent, the extent of not living at all, it makes Minho sad for him.

“I wish I weren’t,” Chan sounds deeply regretful, Minho really wants to hug him, and he asks himself if many people hug him, and how much he deserves to be hugged only for existing. Minho doesn’t move though, he can’t act on that, not the time to share a touch. 

“I heard that before, as I said, being rebellious isn’t very nice either,” Minho tries to comfort him with words, not his forte, but he tries his best, he has learned how to be more comforting with Changbin. He knows Changbin is as sensible as Chan seems to be, they would get along well Minho wonders. 

“At least you lived,” Chan sounds so sad Minho can’t take it, he decides to be more subtle but show some kind of affection still, Minho moves his hand and touches the hand over Chan’s thigh. Chan’s hand is as milky as the rest of his body, it’s small, but Minho’s hand is smaller, he has a lot of veins in his hand that are very apparent in his arm too, but his skin is soft. 

“I lived a lot indeed,” Minho says very softly, and slightly pets Chan’s hand, they have been in that situation before and Minho now feels a little bad. Every time they meet, Minho finds a way of making him sad, touching on sad subjects, and he knows Chan has to talk about those things with someone. Still, he never likes seeing Chan sad, “But everything I did was impulsive, I’m extremely flawed now, I’m paying all the sentences of my reckless actions,” 

“I kinda realized yesterday,” Minho freezes, he stops petting Chan’s hand, but doesn’t take his hand away. His stomach feels heavy, like he just had a huge meal, he’s trapped, he doesn’t want to talk about yesterday, “I never thought I would hear you cry,” Chan says carefully and Minho’s shame gets to him.

“And will make sure you never hear it again,” It comes out more defensive than it should, and Chan’s face gets a little shocked, Minho regrets it.

“I’m sorry,” Chan says quickly, his tone filled with panic. Minho forgets how Chan acts when he’s more defensive, he remembers now how Chan likes to please and his regret gets bigger.

“No, you don’t have to apologize,” Minho says quickly too, trying to reverse the situation, Chan is still kind of panicked, “I just don’t like crying,” He says, and then pets Chan’s hand again, he watches his gaze shift and Minho feels relief.

“I’m not as analytical as you,” Chan starts, he sounds unsure of himself, “But I realize that you’re contained,” Chan says it softly and unsure, like he’s scared that Minho will disagree instantly.

“You’re right,” Minho says simply and Chan lets out a relieved sigh, Minho smirks. 

“You’re very hard to read,” Chan says then, and Minho giggles softly. Mission accomplished again.

“And you’re extremely easy to read,” Minho says, playfully, Chan smirks and looks away, Minho feels his hand getting agitated underneath his own. 

“I don’t try hiding things from you,” Chan says softly and Minho smiles at him, that actually is the most sweet thing Chan has ever said to him.

“Why?” Minho asks, never letting his questioning nature go, and it’s actually recomfortating that Chan doesn’t want to hide stuff from him. For both of them, because he makes Minho’s job easier and makes things easier for himself because if he wanted to hide, Minho wouldn’t allow it. 

“I trust you,” Chan says simply, “You like making me uncomfortable, I see that, and I mean, I get uncomfortable at times, but I feel like I can tell you everything,” That sounds more like a declaration than a simple answer, Minho almost sighs. He doesn’t deserve to be trusted, especially by Chan. 

“I’m the most trustworthy,” Minho says, he’s rarely that self deprecating when talking to someone who isn’t his best friend. That’s a new thing he’s getting used to telling Chan. He has to make sure Chan knows he’s not the right choice, that he’s not good, that they’re not going to last.

“You actually are,” Chan says, very sweetly, “I know you won’t judge me, or tell people about it,” Chan has a point, a very good one.

“You might have a point there,” Minho vocalizes his thoughts and Chan smirks like he’s won something, Minho giggles, “But don’t trust me that much, I’m unpredictable,” Minho says.

“That I really know,” He says and then laughs, “But if you weren’t, it wouldn’t be so fun,” Chan says playfully and Minho smirks, softly.

“Full of striking points today, uh?” Minho teases and Chan places his tongue in between his teeth again, Minho can’t help but stare at his lips again too, he shouldn’t have such pretty lips.

“I practiced them in the mirror before you arrived,” Chan jokes and Minho actually laughs now, because he can imagine Chan coming up with things to say based on their other conversations.

Minho hears small noises coming from the kitchen, and when Minho sees what’s coming he screams very loudly. Chan gets startled and almost jumps on the couch, looking to the ground, when he sees it, he starts laughing. Minho curls himself more and keeps looking at it, a small white pitbull is staring at him curiously, he looks like he’s smiling which is disturbing.

“Brutus, stop scaring my guests, silly dog,” Chan says, bending his body and petting that huge head of the dog, who seems very calm when Chan’s touching him, “He’s not dangerous at all, he’s a big dumbass, just like his dad! Isn’t it, Brutus?” Chan says sweetly, kind of a baby voice, and Minho who had a scared face is now smirking at him softly. Seeing Chan talk with his dog is just one of the most amusing things he has ever seen.

“Such a straight name,” Minho says playfully, but stands still, he’s really scared of dogs, especially ones that seem to have a head bigger than his own. Minho isn’t scared of many things, but dogs are an exception. 

“Well, I used to be very straight,” Chan says kind of awkwardly, still petting Brutus’ head, the dog looks scary but he’s literally just sitting there, with his tongue out and what looks like a smile, making small excitement noises, “And it’s so ironic that his name is Brutus, because he’s a baby, dumbass baby,” He says in that baby tune again, Minho can’t help but keep smiling at him, the way he sounds cute, act cute and treats his dog well. 

“So you’re not straight anymore?” Minho teases and Chan finally looks at him, body still bent, his curls are longer when you look at him that way, his hand still on Brutus’ head. Chan stares at him funny and Minho tries to stop smiling, he wants to look less dumb looking at Chan, but his body is incapable of having other reaction. 

“I guess not,” Chan giggles right after it, kind of embarrassed and Minho’s smile gets bigger and bigger, he hates how Chan makes him smile, how happy he feels, and how seeing simple things as Chan petting a dog is so refreshing.

“Did I turn you gay?” Minho says gasping dramatically and Chan giggles again, moving his head and then looking down to Brutus, who is staring at Minho again, “I think he’s in love with me, he’s staring,” Minho says.

“He’s not the only one,” Chan whispers, Minho’s body freezes, his smile now leaving his face slowly, fuck. Chan likes to trap him, he’s panicking inside, he tries constantly to forget Chan likes him, that Chan told him that, and now he’s literally saying he’s in love with him, Minho wants to punch him. Minho decides to ignore it, for his own god damn sake.

“Is it okay to touch him?” Minho says, trying his best to change the subject, hiding in his monotone voice his feelings. He needs to pretend he didn’t hear it, he has to pretend it didn’t make his heart race, he has to pretend that doesn’t matter, that he doesn’t feel it too. He has to do everything he can to ignore the urges to kiss Chan, he promised to himself, it has to be a friendship. 

“Of course, he loves it!” Chan says, sounding unbothered too, Minho’s plans seemed to be working, “Put your hand close to his nose so he can sniff you,” Chan says, giving him the instructions. Minho is hesitant, he moves his hand very slowly bending his body forward, he almost doesn’t reach Brutus nose, but his proximity is enough for the dog to start sniffing his hand curiously. Brutus’ nose is wet and big and since he’s so big he does it sloppy, “Go ahead,” Chan says, and Minho moves his hand up, brushing his palm on top of Brutus’ head.

Minho pets the dog who seems very pleased that he’s petting his head, he’s actually pretty cute, scary, but pretty cute. Minho’s hand seems dangerously close to his face, and it’s mouth would swallow Minho’s hand very easily so he bends his body even more, his back starts hurting. When he finally reaches the back of Brutus’s head he collapses into Chan’s body, whose head almost bangs into Minho. In embarrassment, Minho shoves his face into Chan’s sweat pants. They smell like citrus and fresh bed sheets, it’s a very good smell and Chan is very warm. He hears Chan start laughing and he feels his body shaking with laughter underneath Minho’s body, Minho sighs.

Minho then feels some curls brushing against the back of his neck, he doesn't realize Chan was that close, he wants to turn his body around to see it, and when the curls stop brushing there, he quickly rolls his body around. His head carefully laid on Chan’s thigh. He looks up, and finds Chan’s face, his head and back as bent, Minho isn’t close enough to feel his breathing, but he can feel the smell of cinnamon, Chan’s curls are down, a few centimeters away from touching Minho. He stares them at Chan’s face, his nose red, his lips half opened, a deep shade of pink, his eyes glimmering as they always do, but this time is different. Minho stares deeply into Chan’s tiny eyes, a small grin shows up in Minho’s lips, then he goes down a little, he watches how his nose is straight, how the corners are redder than the tip, and then Minho stops in Chan’s lips. His cupid's bow is very deep, and it’s a charm, his top lip is very well defined in a heart-ish shape and his bottom lip is very plump and round. Once again Minho’s head curses the universe because Chan has such pretty lips.

Minho stares at him, Chan is so endearing, so pretty, almost breathtaking, his jaw is strong so is his eyebrows, and then his eyes, small, full of hope, innocence, the purest of gazes, the sight of Chan’s eyes make Minho’s heart flutter. He wants to know every secret Chan hides behind his soft expression, Minho wants to see the world through his hopeful eyes, he wants to see what Chan sees in his, he wants to unfold all of Chan’s thoughts, every feeling he hides. He wants Chan. He wants to hold his curls, cup his cheeks, kiss his red and cold nose, his pupils, again but now fully sober. He wants Chan completely. He wants Chan to be his, to leave marks in his beautiful milky skin, to keep him marked as Minho’s territory. 

Minho’s hand runs by his sides, without his own control, like his hand tells the rules, like his brain is so intoxicated he’s dominated by some kind of energy. Minho almost feels like his soul is out of his body, and he’s almost sure it is, because he feels like he’s watching from afar while his hand runs though Chan’s neck, and then cups the curls on the back of his head, and with a small moving he pulls his body a little up, resting his back on the side of the couch. With his hand intertwined on Chan’s hair, and the soft feeling of his curls under Minho’s fingertips, Minho loses. He loses everything, he loses his control, he loses his bets, he loses his conscience, he breaks, he breaks his promises, his boundaries, his rules. 

Now closer than ever, Minho feels Chan heavy breathing over his cheeks, he smells clearly of the citrus, his perfume and the cinnamon. He now knows how Chan is close, how he’s real and how he’s there. Because everything smells like him, everything feels like him, because his whole body is shivering and his heart is racing. Minho bends his head slightly to the side and moves a little forward, his nose brushes into Chan’s very lightly, it is cold, but his breath against Minho’s lips is warm. Minho gives him a small peck, and then keeps another distance, he looks at Chan’s eyes again, Minho smiles, and when his other hand cups Chan’s cheek, Minho kisses him. His lips brushing against Chan’s sweetly, Minho gives a small bite on Chan’s lips and Chan opens his mouth. 

Minho’s tongue slips into Chan’s mouth, and then he runs his hand on Minho’s thighs, it runs until Minho’s waist. Minho feels then Chan’s hand running inside his shirt, soft and cold hands resting over his bare skin. Minho deepens the kiss, but the pace is still slow. His tongue is against Chan’s and there’s nothing he loves more than feeling the wetness and the warmth of Chan’s mouth all over his, the slight taste of cinnamon and mint mixed with the taste of Chan.  
Their tongues dance, intertwining with each other, it’s like Chan knows Minho's mouth for years, he knows exactly what to do, and right now it makes Minho surprised, because he knows at that point that Chan is rather inexperienced. 

Small wet noises leave their mouths while they melt into each other. Minho wants to merge their bodies together and live with Chan every single day of his life and when his mind goes there he knows he’s fucked. He’s so fucked. Wanting Chan is okay, he’s hot, being attracted to him is forgivable, but where Minho’s thoughts are going are frightening, he hopes to still have a way out of that. Because at that moment, while he kisses Chan slowly and with a passion that makes his skin burn, he feels that every second away from Chan will rip his skin apart, break him inside and out. And today, he had only a simple sip of whiskey, he has nothing to put the blame on, to shift his situation. There’s nothing for him to say to defend his case.

Minho’s heart hurts, he wants more, he doesn’t know what to do with himself or with Chan. He’s already kissing him, they’re already connected, still Minho can’t get enough. He pulls Chan’s bottom lip into his own, sucking with and pulling it, Chan groans. What sweet sounds he makes, Minho wants to suck him all over, he wants to trace his tongue over every small piece of Chan. He wants to taste the citrus, the perfume. Minho might be doing something wrong, something he regrets, but a big part of himself tells that he’s going to regret even more if he doesn’t. His time with Chan is counting, his time is little, he knows he has to leave him, so why not do everything he wants? If he’s going to regret it anyway, he better do.

Minho breaks the kiss, Chan is breathing heavily, eyes closed, his mouth almost seems like he applied red lipstick, and it’s very, very plump and wet. Minho bites his lips looking at it, and then he licks Chan’s lip, slowly, feeling the soft skin. Minho traces a path, from Chan’s bottom lip to his chin, leaving them wet, Chan bends his head knowing that Minhos is going for his neck, and he is. Minho licks his adam’s apple, and it’s very big, Chan is masculine, so masculine, and it blends so well with Minho’s petite looks. Minho tastes Chan’s neck, and it has a slight pinch of his perfume, he sticks to Chan’s left side, licking his neck, only brushing his teeth on the soft skin, wanting to bite but stopping himself, he licks the path to Chan’s ear, and Chan shivers, that might be a sensible place, and he realizes it is because when Minho sucks Chan’s ear he moans. His voice chokes, but his moan comes out sweet, more high pitched than his normal voice. Minho almost hisses in approval.

Minho leaves Chan’s eat just to whisper, “You like it here, then?” His voice is low, and sharp as a knife. Chan is so obedient, because he nods, not even teasing back. Minho then realizes this is new territory to him, that even though Minho wants, he has much more experience, and a lot of confidence. Minho moves back, and Chan looks surprised.

“Can I?” Minho asks, he never had to be that careful with someone, because all of them show interest before, and all of them did those things before.

“Yes,” Chan says quickly and instantly, not even thinking, Minho almost laughs at how desperate he sounds. It’s very cute actually. 

“You don’t even know what I’m going to do,” Minho says, both as a point and also sounding a little bit teasy, because he kind of wants to see Chan’s reaction. 

“What is it?” Chan sounds almost breathless, a spark of anticipation and curiosity is very present on his face, and Minho is good at reading people, and then again, Chan said he’s not trying to hide things from him.

Minho bends his body again, getting close to Chan’s ear again, Chan shivers, “I’m going to lick you all over,” Minho says slowly, with lust so apparent on his tone it sounds almost velvety, “All over,” Minho says, then he puts his fingers on Chan’s chest, and starts tracing a path down, over his chest than his stomach, until the lower part of his belly. Chan groans, softly.

“Please,” Chan says, now he’s actually breathless, there’s some kind of panic in his tone, but it’s not because that thing makes him uncomfortable, but because he’s begging. Oh it’s going to be fun to play around with Chan. Minho moves his head back, then he moves his body until it is comfortable enough for him to get up. Brutus is still there, sitting, Minho is kind of embarrassed that the poor dog had to watch those things.

“He is too pure to see what’s going to happen,” Minho says playfully looking at the dog, and Chan giggles, anxiety so clear in his tone it’s amazing to hear. 

“Brutus, go to bed,” He says more loudly than he was before, still breathless though. Brutus is as obedient as his owner, hesitating a little but leaving, when the dog is out of view, Minho turns to Chan, who looks at him with his eyes shining. Minho smiles at him, not softly, he smiles like an enemy that is about to do something really bad. And he has to admit, he’s about to do something very bad indeed.

“Take your shirt off,” Minho says, sharply, not as a request, an order. He always thinks about being too pretty to be bossed around, and he doesn’t think that at that point Chan is very much capable of bossing him around. Chan is far from a brat, because he quickly takes off his shirt, Minho stares at the tattoos that shouldn’t be so familiar, but they’re, Minho remembers how it was good to touch it, and he doesn’t believe he’s about to touch Chan again. That’s the most sober he has ever been around Chan, and oddly enough, today he doesn’t plan on holding back. It’s incredible that Chan makes him feel drunk and intoxicated even when he’s fully sober. 

Chan’s skin is as milky as he remembered, the tattoos are even prettier than his memory, he absolutely loves the kill your darlings one, “Come more to the edge,” Minho orders again, and Chan quickly moves around. Minho walks forward, with one of his thighs he moves Chan’s leg to the side making enough space for himself, Chan is sitting perfectly on the edge. Minho is a model, Minho enjoys high fashion and couture, but seeing Chan without his shirt and a simple sweatpant is probably the prettiest of looks he has ever saw, “You’re so pretty,” Minho whispers, Chan smiles but it leaves as soon as Minho drops his body down, getting on his knees. Chan takes the longest of breaths anxiously. Minho moves closer, until his nose brushes on Chan’s skin.

He pulls his tongue out and licks the space between Chan’s collarbones, then traces his left collarbone slowly, tasting Chan’s skin, he goes back his own path and licks the other one, feeling the texture of his tattoo. He licks every single word to kill your darlings, then he licks his scorpion and moves to the side. Kissing dangerously close to Chan’s nipple, then kissing his right nipple leaving some wetness, and then he licks it torturously slow with his whole tongue, Chan lets out a small moan, and the nipple quickly grows under his tongue getting fully stimulated, Minho runs his other hand on Chan’s stomach, then puts his finger over the other nipple, brushing his tongue, Chan whimpers and Minho smiles over his skin, before grabbing Chan’s nipple with his lips, he wants to give Chan as small demonstration of what’s coming. So he sucks his nipple softly while using the tip of his tongue to go up and down there. Chan places a desperate hand on Minho’s shoulder, and as he squeezes it, Minho feels the friction with something hard. When Chan is enjoying it too much, Minho stops. 

Chan is about to complain when Minho traces his tongue down again, over his defined abdomen, and Chan squeezes his shoulder again. He thought of making things more difficult to Chan, since he likes to be more dominant, but he’s going to give Chan something new, so he tries his best to be teasy yet careful. Minho leaves a soft bite on his stomach, strong enough for Chan to feel but light enough so he doesn’t get bruises. Minho licks up and down over Chan’s packs, but after two or three licks he gets even more close to his bellybutton. When he arrives, he bites the skin under Chan’s belly button lightly. He licks then Chan’s v line, lowering Chan’s sweatpants with his chin. 

Minho pulls away, and takes a good look at Chan. His cheeks are more tinted than ever before, and Chan is biting his bottom lip with his eyes half closed. Minho wishes to be inexperienced again, to feel all those new sensations again, and he doesn’t remember well how it felt, but Chan shows him a small part. Because he already looks wrecked, and it’s so appealing to Minho the way he looks innocent, fresh, but in his half closed eyes Minho sees the glimmering light of lust.

Minho places both of his hands on the borders of Chan’s sweatpants, and Chan closes his eyes instantly, “Keep them open, I want you to see everything,” Minho orders and Chan bites his lips even harder, opening his eyes, his eyes that are already small are now narrowed in a strong yet curious gaze. Minho makes sure Chan is staring at him and then, easily without any effort he pulls Chan’s sweatpants down, the position he told Chan to be was extrategic. Minho places a small kiss over Chan’s Calvin kleins before moving back to pull them down too.

Chan’s cock jumps out, it’s very thick and actually bigger than most of the ones Minho has seen before, maybe it’s the Australian part or something. It’s milky and veiny, the tip is a burning red, and then of course his dick is pretty too. Minho looks up and Chan’s eyes that were almost closed get more open again when he caught Minho’s gaze. He gets closer again, and breathes heavily on porpoise so Chan can feel it. It works becauses Chan slightly arches his back, Minho smiles and then pulls out his tongue, just brushing the tip of his tongue on top of the head. Chan takes a long breath, and he seems a little relaxed. Minho surprised him by wrapping his lips around the head, giving it a thigh suck. Chan lets out a surprised gasp with a small noise coming from his throat, Minho lets out of Chan’s head with a pop sound. 

He doesn’t let Chan go though because he wraps his hand on the base, holding it softly. He draws circles with his tongue on the tip and then licks it from top to bottom. When Minho is back at the top again he opens his mouth wide, it almost doesn’t fit, Chan is indeed thick. He goes slowly, he focuses on the head first going up and down there, Chan whimpers softly. He goes deeper and deeper, and it’s almost on his throat while his hands are close to his mouth. Minho goes a little deeper until his lips touch his fingers, his tongue dances around. Chan lets small noises out, and when Minho quickly goes up and down again Chan moans.

He keeps oscillating between sucking it quickly and then slowly, when it’s slow Chan breathes heavily and every time Minho goes quick, he becomes a mess, soft moans and some high pitched ones too. Chan is loud, he doesn’t scream but he’s rarely quiet, he responds to almost everything Minho does with him, and it’s pleasing. Minho stays in the low pace for a while and Chan sounds like he’s suffering, and he probably is, because Minho teases him a lot. After small cries Minho decides to stop Chan’s suffering, he lets go of the base and sucks if full, his nose pressed against Chan’s groin. And he goes very quickly, choking a little every time Chan’s tip hits his throat, with small tears in his eyes he looks up, mouth full of Chan, soft lips around his cock, he watches Chan, his lips parted, his whole face is red he has both of his arms struggling to keep his body up, his eyes are forcefully closed and his eyebrows are arched in pleasure.

Chan realizes Minho is looking in some way, so he opens his eyes, soft eyes far from that warm gaze of his, and when Minho sucks him very strong his hand goes to the back of Minho’s head, holding a handful of his hair. Minho groans, sending vibrations through Chan’s cock, who lets out a small moan. Chan grips his hair more and moves his head, asking for permission, Minho nods. Chan thrusts his hips lightly, his gaze looks worried, looking at Minho like he’s scared of hurting him, Minho only grins against Chan’s cock, and Chan closes his eyes again. He know thrusts harder, and Minho stays unbothered, so Chan does it again and again, fucking Minho’s mouth. It’s slow at the beginning and then he goes quicker and quicker, when Minho chokes and Chan almost stops Minho makes his grip more strong so he won't.

Chan goes quicker and quicker then, and Minho loves the feeling of his mouth full of Chan, the taste of his precum and the way it hits the back of his throat. While he fucks Minho’s mouth, Minho stares at him, his face filled with despair, he lets more noises now, most of them extremely high pitched. And Minho knows what’s coming because Chan loses control, letting out small moans and cries, Minho can feel Chan’s legs trembling.

“Minho,” He moans, suffering tone in his voice, Minho loves it a lot, the way he sounds so given, the way he seems to be losing all his senses while fucking Minho’s mouth, “I’m going…” He says, mumbling and Minho moves his head more now making sure Chan doesn’t try to pull out. Chan’s thrusts get a little more out of control, he doesn’t have a constant pace, “Minho,” Chan almost screams his name and Chan shakes under him, he lets a small cry and then hot sticks of liquid fill Minho’s mouth, and it’s very bittersweet. Minho swallows almost everything, some dropping on his chin. He lets go of Chan’s cock, licking his lips, and then brushing his fingers on his chin collecting the cum and sucking his finger. Minho does one last lick on the tip and Chan shivers under him. 

Minho stays on his knees, with both his hands now over Chan’s thighs, his tattoos under his palm. Chan opens his eyes slowly and then looks at Minho, his tiny eyes now looking extremely relaxed. Minho smiles at him and Chan smiles back.

“This…” Chan says, almost in a whisper, “This was so,” Chan says taking a long breath after it, Minho lets out a small giggle.

“Amazing, I know,” Minho says, bragging, looking at Chan with a smirk, Chan is still smiling at him, softly, his eyes shining so pretty. He looks cute again, dreamy, his cheeks still very red, his cock now softening.

“Of course you were going to brag,” Chan says playfully and Minho giggles, getting up, Chan quickly puts his boxers on as soon as Minho gets up. Minho throws himself over the couch right on the side of Chan who drops his body back, breathing heavily. 

“If I don't brag about my talents then who will,” Minho says, running his hand through his hair, that is a bit sweaty in some places, his leather pants making it hard for him to breathe, he’s hard of course, but he only realizes it now, when everything is over. He crosses his legs to hide it from Chan. He’s not planning to get anything in return. They sit there for a while, Chan’s breath getting slowly more normal. He drops his head on Minho’s shoulder and he smiles, Minho moves his head to the side and inhales the soft smell of citrus of Chan’s curls.

“Hungry?” Chan asks after some minutes and Minho stops smelling his curls, when Chan moves his head away from Minho’s shoulder to stare at him.

“Does cumming make you hungry?” Minho says playfully and Chan lets out a small embarrassed giggle. Chan is very odd, and Minho often realizes that, and it’s more clear now, how obedient he is, how desperate and lustful, and then he comes back to his normal ways, shy and teasy. 

“I guess it does,” Chan says and Minho nods at him, Chan realizes that Minho is answering his question, “Sushi?” Chan asks then, and Minho arches his brow. 

“Someone was stalking my social media,” Minho says as a joke, because he knows that every time he goes out to eat he chooses sushi, and Changbin always notes how sick and tired he is from eating raw fish, Minho doesn’t care. 

“You said that, not me,” Chan jokes back and Minho laughs at him. Chan gets up, and from the couch Minho stares at Chan while the older man uses his phone to order food. It’s actually good Chan is hungry, because Minho realizes the only thing he had that day was Chan’s cum, not a bad thing to have but he has to eat something. 

It’s kind of quick, the sushi arrives after 15 minutes, Chan goes to get it and Minho sits there looking around, he stays fixated to the lava lamp for a while, and it’s actually pretty fun to look at, he might be buying that dumb thing someday, its great to lose time seing the colors moving. They eat on the couch, Minho stares at Chan eating more than normal, he’s cute eating, with his cheeks filled. They’re kind of close together and Minho sees a small bit of shoyo on Chan’s left cheeks. Minho swallows his sushi.

“You have shoyo on your cheek,” Minho says, holding up his laugh when Chan looks at him embarrassed. Chan proceeds to poke the wrong cheek.

“Here?” He asks and Minho moves his head, Chan keeps looking for it, getting denial head moves from Minho. It comes at a time Minho is tired of Chan’s struggles, so he moves his head forward and licks the shoyo out of Chan’s cheek, and the boy freezes. 

“Got it,” Minho says, resuming his place on the couch, Chan looks at him with a small grin on his face. And Minho stares at him like it’s nothing.

“You are especially unpredictable today,” Chan says letting out a small giggle and Minho stares at him smiling with a frown. 

“I’m full of surprises,” Minho says back to him quickly, and then uses his sticks to get another piece of his sushi, he puts it in his mouth and Chan stares at his lips.

“Like a box of chocolates,” Chan notes, still looking at Minho’s lips, Minho swallows his sushi and then laughs at Chan, who looks surprised.

“Forrest Gump? Really?” Minho says laughing at him and Chan pouts cutely at him.

“It’s a pretty cool movie, Minho,” Chan defends himself, still with a pout on his face. Minho wants to bite his soft lips.

“That’s so white of you,” Minho jokes around and Chan lets out a sweet laugh, Minho smiles at how cute his laugh is.

“It’s my Australian half,” Chan says and now Minho is the one to laugh. Minho finishes his sushi, putting the container over the table that is in front of the couch. He stares at Chan for a while while Chan finishes on his own. 

“I don’t know if I asked you this before,” Minho starts, pulling a subject, “Do you miss it there? Australia, I mean,” Minho asks softly, bending his head to the side, he watches Chan do his little pout.

“Every day,” Chan says then, his tone very low, “And it has been difficult for me to visit it, I don't have days off,” Chan says then and Minho keeps silent, just waiting for Chan, “I have mostly the nights off, and Australia is pretty far away,” He sounds so sad, and Minho wants to punch every employee on Chan’s company to let him have some time to visit his home country. 

“Sorry you’re stuck in Korea,” Minho says softly, being extremely careful. And he is, he feels so bad that Chan has to live a life in a country he doesn’t like, in a job he doesn’t like, with no free time to feel happier. Chan doesn’t deserve it, not even a little bit.

“Korea is not that bad,” Chan says and Minho frowns.

“It is actually,” Minho says, leaving out a small giggle after it, trying to make the mood light, once again, he’s not very skilled on that. 

“Let me finish,” Chan says and Minho arches his eyebrows in curiosity, then he nods, teeling Chan to keep going, “Korea has you,” Chan says and Minho starts laughing, nervously, why is Chan so cheesy? 

“Paris too,” Minho says quickly, “Feeling romantic today, uh?” He says right after it quickly changes to subject to a burn as soon as possible. 

“I’m very romantic,” Chan says, his voice indicates something more than just a fact about himself. And that pisses Minho out, he’s more okay of having Chan physically, romantic is another thing, something they can’t have. Then he puts some thoughts into the physical part, he might have done too much too. Chan is fairly inexperienced and that puts a height on Minho’s shoulder.

“Chan,” He calls, and Chan looks at him curiously, “Sorry if I went too far today,” Minho says then carefully, too scared of Chan saying it was. He would never forgive himself for something like that, taking advantage of someone that is clearly horny for a while.

“You didn’t,” Chan says very quickly, he takes a long breath and then looks around, “I actually wanted it for a while,” He says shyly, it leaves Minho with a smile on his face. He’s used to being desirable, he knows how hot he is, and he’s not even a little modest about it, but knowing Chan wanted him is very good.

“Having dirty thoughts about me, then?” Minho teases and Chan lets out a small giggle, he’s so embarrassed now and once again his fair skin sells his shyness. 

“Yes…” Chan says very quietly Minho has a pleased smile on his face. 

“Good to know I’m always in your head,” Minho jokes and Chan suddenly looks down, Minho watches him very carefully, seeing the ways he plays with his hands, the way the ring is not there, and Minho wants to look at his naked fingers and forget there was a ring there in the first place. He can’t.

“You are, actually,” Chan uses that tone again, there’s something more in there and Minho’s smile gets smaller. For now that he realized his feelings and accepted a part of it, he hopes Chan would stop liking him, being romantic, thinking of him, he wants to mess with Chan’s free will and stop those feelings completely. 

“Do you think like that about all your friends?” Minho says, trying to cut the roots of that moment, that moment filled with love confessions and romantic feelings, those things he can’t take. Chan loses the hopefulness of his gaze.

“This is so unfair, Minho,” Chan says, he sounds extremely disappointed, he runs his hands through his curls and Minho almost sighs, he hates that tone, he hates the disappointment lingering on Chan’s face.

“What?” Minho says, small tone, far from his witty ways. 

“You keep telling me that we should be friends, but you keep kissing me,” Chan says, his tone is incredibly hurt, Minho almost feels like he’s going to cry, because his throat clogs with something bitter, he keeps hurting Chan, if he stays away he hurts him and if he gets closer he hurts him too. Minho feels trapped. He thinks of ways to hurt him less.

“Have you ever heard the concept of friends with benefits?” Minho says. He knows he’s faking the witty tone that his confidence now is nothing more than an act to hold back all the pain every single word they say brings. Minho should know things were going to be this complicated and he kind of does, but it keeps hurting. 

“Is that what we are?” Chan asks, Minho for the first time can’t read what is going on in Chan’s gaze, what kind of tone he has. He’s lost, because Chan is monotoned, far away from his real self. 

“Depends on my mood,” Minho says then, trying his best to be sharp. His head is dizzy, he feels tired like he has been running in circles for hours and hours, everything inside him aches, and it’s the worst thing he has ever felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is really the longest chapter i’ve ever written and i own it to all the people that comment nice things here and my twitter Friends who read it. yall really make my day and also it brings me inspiration to keep going.
> 
> thank you.
> 
> rainy ❤️


	6. Lover of mine (I’ll never give you away cause I already made that mistake)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Darkest Of Lovers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO! here i am and this one took me a while to get inspiration, but when it did it went fine and it got very long! i’ve beaten my own record because this one is 19k and i would like to thank you for the comments and one reader in special that made a playlist for this fic!!! it made me so inspired to keep on going and i listened to her a lot while writing this one, and i’m still dumbfounded someone made my work a playlist hehe!!
> 
> so, a little explanation before this one also, i didn’t review it completely because it’s fairly long, but this one is going to set things, and how they’ll go forward, also i’m introducing the last important side character, which is seungmin, my personal favorite, so i hope yall like him and this chapter in general!!!
> 
> see you at the end notes!!

Chan laughs at everything Minho says, and he doesn’t know if he’s funny or if Chan is whipped. Maybe it’s both, and Minho doesn’t know how to take either of those. Probably him being whipped is the hardest one, because as always, Minho knows he shouldn’t be. And it came to a point that Chan doesn’t even do it to please Minho, like he normally likes to do, it’s the most genuine of noises, his small eyes clenching. After what sounded like hours, Brutus comes back to wherever he was and struggles to get on the couch.

“Look, he’s small just like you,” Minho jokes and Chan laughs, and then pouts, Minho holds back a smile, he’s away far from his limits, he has smiled enough. And his face almost hurts.

“I’m like 3 centimeters taller than you,” Chan says, he talks while pouting and his lips look as beautiful as ever. If Minho had the liberty to bite his lips every time he wonders about it Chan would end up with permanent teeth marks on his lips. 

“Still small,” Minho says then, and Chan stares at him with a grin that shows his dimples, “Did you make it on purpose? Getting a dog as small and buff as you?” Chan laughs again, that soft sound, he has those kids laughs, the ones that every time you hear it makes your heart warm. Chan is one of a kind on making warm feelings appear, and it’s incredibly bittersweet to someone like Minho. 

“He looks like me doesn’t he?” Chan says while smiling, he looks at the dog that has given up on getting on the couch and now sits in the floor, “You look like your daddy,” He says softly and Brutus seems to understand, Minho would say that he talking to his dog is dumb, but he has full length conversations with his cats. 

“He does, all my cats look like me, because I’m a cat,” Minho says and then regrets it almost instantly because Chan is laughing at him not with him, he sounded cuter than planned, “Stop laughing, I’m a mean cat,” 

“You really want to be mean,” Chan says then, his face is incredibly soft, “But I know you’re not, sometimes you can be really mean, but you don’t do it much… At least not with me,” He says the last part is very small. Minho wants to roll his eyes, because he hates that he’s right. Minho knows he’s incapable of being mean to Chan and he doesn’t know why that man does those things to him. 

“I can be if you want,” Minho says, with a flirty tone, and then closes his eyes slowly, he can never run away from his instincts, Chan only looks at him, with a small smirk on his face. And it sucks that every time he looks at Chan he sees more than he should, there’s something inside him that aches, that urges, and Minho is terrified, terrified to find something in someone else.

“If you need to be mean, be mean to me,” Chan says, playfully and Minho smiles largely.

“I can take it and put it inside of me” Minho completes and Chan is extremely surprised, he looks at him with eyes wide open and Minho is still smiling.

“You know every reference,” Chan says and then laughs cutely and Minho once again is bombarded with all those things, those frightening things, and he almost feels the urge to cry.

“I’m filled with culture,” Minho says, bragging under a soft grin, and Chan is smiling, and everything hurts.

Chan and Minho are quiet, Minho can hear Chan’s soft breath and Chan can probably hear his too, and Chan’s presence is like fire. The warmest of fires, with small noises from the wood, a fire that makes the coldness bearable, and Minho is used to the coldness. He’s burning and burning, his heart is burning and Minho knows that when Chan leaves he’s only ash, smoke, only faded pieces of something. Minho is used to coldness, but he’s scared of feeling it. 

“Minho,” A soft voice calls, and Minho looks to the side staring at the flames that burn inside him, flames in a shape of a man, a man that is soft spoken. Minho nods, “Can I show you something?” Chan asks and Minho nods again.

Chan gets up, and watches Minho who is still sitting and then after a while of looking at Chan’s hopeful face, Minho gets up. He follows Chan around, up the stairs, and there’s a long corridor, “Are you going to show me your bdsm room?” Minho jokes and Chan looks back at him letting out a small laugh.

“Not yet,” Chan says, joking back and Minho smiles, a soft smile, and there’s so many other reactions available but he only wants to smile. They get to the last door in the corridor, it has the name “Chanie’s room” written on it. Chan opens the door and steps in, and Minho steps in too.

Minho is dumbfounded. It’s all huge, the walls are soundproof, there’s shelves filled with stuff too, some action figures, even more cds, there’s vinyls too, autographed kpop albums, records on the walls. There’s two big chairs then, in front of 3 monitors and a huge producing table, behind the table and the monitors there’s glass walls, and then a small recording booth, Minho doesn’t even realize he has his mouth fully open in shock. 

“Wow,” Minho whispers and Chan looks back, smiling. Minho almost says it’s hot, because it is, it’s completely hot, he imagines Chan producing in that big studio and what his expression might be, and it’s sexy. Minho feels a sudden desire and then decides to ignore it.

“You like it?” Chan asks, and there’s something new in his voice, something that makes Minho remind him of his desire again, and if Minho could, he would suck him again, while he sits in that chair in front of them. 

“Maybe,” Minho says, smirking, and Chan smirks back and it makes his whole body warm, burning and burning, and Minho can’t get enough of how much his body burns into Chan’s flames. Chan points to the chair in the left and then proceeds to sit down in the one in the right, Minho sits close to him and turns his chair to Chan, who smiles before reaching out for a mouse, and all three of his monitors light up and there’s like a hundred folders there, which makes Minho think about how much Chan must work, and he wonders about every single word he ever used, every feeling he showed, every tune he ever created, and Minho wants all the time in the world so he could hear every single one of them, he wishes to be inside Chan’s brain to understand where all comes from. 

“What did you want to show me?” Minho asks, curiously and Chan stays quiet, he opens one of the folders and Minho doesn’t even understand how he found that one, and it’s named “Darkest of lovers” and Minho looks at it nervously, he doesn’t know what to expect. There’s 5 tracks there, only one is named, and it’s named after the folder, and Minho is still looking scared of saying anything. 

Chan reaches for a headphone that is connected to the huge table, and Minho thought he would put it on himself, but he puts it forward, on Minho’s direction, Minho looks at it for a while before picking it up and when he does, Chan cups Minho’s hand, moving it to Minho’s head. And then, the headphones are on his head. Chan gets up as soon as Minho has the headphones on, Minho watches Chan moving and getting inside that booth, when he’s in front of the microphone, Minho gets startled.

“Can you hear me?” Chan asks, and it’s so amazing to hear his voice like that, listening to it in person it’s almost like heaven, and when it’s so close to Minho’s ears, he’s walking on heaven truly, because Chan’s voice is calming like he’s inside the gates, “You can talk by pressing a red button that should be in front of you,” Chan says and Minho looks down, he presses down.

“Ah!” He says loudly and laughs when Chan jumps inside the booth, startled. 

“Try not making me deaf next time,” Chan says softly, his voice is playful and it’s like he’s inside Minho’s head, and Minho smiles again, ear to ear, and the flames are bigger. 

“No,” Minho says, and Chan’s soft laugh is all over his senses. 

“Click the track when you’re ready,” Chan says then, small and soft, almost hesitant and Minho looks at the screens, anxiety lingering inside him, every bone of his body responding in urges, and he reaches for the mouse. He whispers ready, and Chan nods inside the booth, Minho clicks.

It starts with a soft sound, of cars far away, and wind, there’s definitely wind. Then he listens to small noises of glass touching each other and then a soft melody starts playing, it’s soft but melancholic, even a little sexy, there’s saxophone, a small glimpse of violins and then soft guitar, and the wind is still there. He listens to Chan’s voice, letting out a soft hum, and Minho looks up to the booth, Chan’s eyes are closed and one hand is placed on his own headphones. Minho smiles.

“I shouldn’t find hope,” Chan sings softly and his voice, pure honey, “Laying in a bed with someone,” Minho takes a long breath, “With a heart as closed as the door… Behind him,” Him, he sang, it’s him, it’s about a man, it’s about a boy, him, Chan is singing to a boy, a boy with a closed heart, and Minho feels his body getting cold, his stomach twists, and everything is starting to hurt again. 

“The lock that holds a secret… The sweetest of the secrets,” And the secret he sings about isn't sweeter than his voice, it’s low, it has suffering on it, and it melts, it melts Minho’s ears, “And I struggle to find… A synonym,” His voice gets higher when he says synonym and Minho feels the extent of that noise dance inside his ears and brain, and it dances a soft path, there’s a soft light, around the bodies, “For the things I feel, with not regrets,” The voice is lower again, and Minho knows now that he feels, that Minho might regret, but Chan doesn’t. No regrets. No regrets. 

The tune gets louder and louder and Minho holds both sides of his headphones closer to his ears, hoping in some way that it would be even louder, there’s not volume limit to the way he craves to have Chan’s voice being the only thing inside his brain, “You,” Chan says, pulling out the “u” and it makes Minho’s back shiver, “The darkest of lovers,” And lovers is high, it’s intoxicating, it matches the now louder tune and Minho puts more strength into the headphones, “Make my eyes,” Eyes is louder too, “Shine with the purest of lights,” Light, a pure light, and it can’t be about Minho, it’s not about Minho, it’s not. No, no, no, no, his brain shouts. 

“And every time I wake up… And you left,” Left is higher too, last longer, almost like the act of leaving is something he wants to give the biggest of meanings, and there’s pain within, there’s a struggle, and Minho thinks about the times he leaves, the times he wouldn’t be able to cope with staying, and pain, pain, and more pain comes, it comes in waves, “All I can do is let out… Inchorinet wines,” Pain, pain and more pain, once again.

“I will, forever, blame you… For being,” Minho breathes loudly, “A thief,” Minho is a thief, but that can’t be about it him, it just can’t, he wants Chan to tell him he was in love with another dark lover, another boy with a closed heart, he would cope well with knowing it’s not about him, it has to, or else, they’re both trapped. The tune gets softer again and Minho doesn’t even realize how tense his body was until he let it go, and the grip on his headphones gets slightly softer, and Minho stares at Chan, while the song plays, he watches Chan’s face, soft, eyes closed, and Minho doesn’t know what gaze himself has, and he doesn’t know which it is. 

“I wish I could have it back,” Chan signs then, and Minho is looking at him, how he changes his expression while singing and how his other hand hold the bottom of the microphone and Chan is beautiful, so beautiful, “My heart,” And Minho takes a while to piece out the phrases together, and when he does, he wishes he didn’t, he wishes for ignorance, for being unable to listen and understand what he’s saying, but he does. Minho is a thief, because he stole Chan’s heart, he stole it, and Chan is begging to have it back. Minho feels empty, an emptiness that lingers, and hurts. 

“Because just now,” Chan signs, “I don’t have yours,” And Minho’s heart aches, like he knows it being called out, and Minho has no clue if Chan has it or not, but his heart answers to those words, “To replace the one I had,” Chan is heartless, and something inside him says he’s too, that he walks around without a heart too. 

“And I should know by now,” It goes out Chan’s mouth and Minho doesn’t know shit, he doesn’t know a single thing, he knows that Chan is there, “That I’m not that smart,” Chan is smart, Minho is dumb, not him, never him, “I can’t help not falling this hard,” Chan fell, Chan fell in love, Chan is love, and Minho hates it, Minho despises it, it hurts, hurts so much. 

“You,” He says then, and Minho is staring deeply at Chan, who now opens his eyes, and looks at Minho, small eyes filled with something that burns, it burns good, and Chan’s eyes get wider, Minho doesn’t know why, and then he closes it again, “The darkest of lovers,” It’s sweet, “Makes my body shiver with something new,” And Minho wonders what that’s supposed to mean, “I call for you,” It sounds painful, “I shout your name into the darkness,” And Minho thinks that he’s the darkness, that makes him more filled with pain, because from now, he knows Chan is suffering, that he knows he’s dark, and closed, and none of those are lies.

“Waiting,” He sings, and Minho still is looking at him, “Waiting for you to feel,” And then everything hits him like a wave, everything makes him dive deeper into turbulent waters, he wants to dive deeper and deeper inside the sea, so he would never has to feel the flames of Chan, the warmth of his fire, “And after you show,” Minho is breathless, he feels so much and so little, and everything is overwhelming and he never thought he would be like that, “All I have is,” Minho feels something running, “Harshness,” And with that, Chan steps away from the microphone and Minho stares at him while he opens his eyes, and when their eyes lock, and the confirmation of what just happened hits , because Chan’s are there getting wider and wider.

And the song doesn’t end when Minho watches Chan’s face getting filled with panic, and the song doesn’t end when Chan rushes outside the booth, and it’s about to end when Chan is getting close to him, and Minho only feels his presence while his eyes melt and run down his cheeks, and when it ends and there’s silence, Minho realizes he’s making noises, he realizes his breath is quick and that the now empty booth that he’s staring at gets blurred. Minho is confused, in pain, scared, he’s everything at once and he can’t move.

Chan removes the headphones and Minho is still frozen and still, he doesn’t know what to do, what to feel, and it’s painful, confusing, and it makes everything inside him hurt. And that’s all he can’t think. The darkest of lovers. He is the darkest of lovers. He's a lover. Minho cries, hot tears filled with something he can’t decide run down his cheeks, and Minho lets out small noises in which he regrets, and now it’s not a phone call, it's not the kitchen corner, Chan is right beside him, and one tear drops right on Chan’s hands that rest over Minho’s thigh. Veiny pale hands that are heavy, knuckles slightly flushed with red, just like all the parts of his body, like his knees, the tip of his nose, his lips, the tip of his member, red, pink, blossoming all over the boy with the sweetest of voices.

Minho is in complete despair, nothing can make those things go away, he remembers every word, every word that left Chan’s mouth just minutes ago, every word that caressed his ear and broke his heart, Minho is only, fallen pieces. And he knows the mask he comfortably holds up his face is cracked, he knows that soon, the image of himself that he so hopelessly projects will be gone, and Minho would be nothing but himself, flawed, whimpering, lost, empty. Minho for a while, hates Chan, he hates Chan with every bone of his body, he hates Chan’s voice, Chan’s words, he hates Chan because he can get into him, he hates Chan because he is everywhere, everywhere, inside and outside him, and Minho hates him, because there’s no way out. 

The tears roll hotter and hotter, while rage is slowly growing and growing, Minho is angry, not only at Chan, or himself, but the world, the circumstances, the reasons, the meanings, rage hits him like a truck. And when Chan turns Minho’s chair and he’s facing the blurred image of that man that was once inside that booth, singing words that Minho can’t take, Minho feels everything inside break and break, running in circles.

“Minho,” Chan says, and there’s so much panic in there, so much panic, his voice has never sounded like that, real fear, and it’s terrible to hear. Minho hates himself for having this reaction, and looking at Chan, even though he’s blurred, makes him regret almost every aspect of his life, “Are you okay?” He asks then, softly, with that tone of panic lingering.

“Why?” Minho says almost choking on his own words, and that’s really everything he has to ask, to say, since the beginning, why. 

“What?” Chan says back, confused, panicked, slowly, and Minho hates the sound of his voice, but only because he loves it. 

“Why…” Minho begins and then lets out a small hiccup that he hates so deeply, and Minho used to be sure of not a lot of things before Chan, but he used to know one thing about himself, everything he hated, and now, not even that, Minho realizes he doesn’t know anything about himself, at all, “Why did you talk to me? Why did you offer me your coat? Why did you allow me to get to your room? Why me? Why?” Minho says as quickly as he could possibly say, small crying noises in the middle of sentences, and he wants all those answers. Rage, only rage. 

“I don’t know,” Chan says, it’s louder, not as louder as a scream, just seems like he wants Minho to hear, “But I did, Minho,” Chan says then, now his voice lower, “And I would do it again,” It's almost like a whisper, and Minho begs for not being so good at hearing, he begs to not understand those words, he begs for once, to forget. 

“Why?” Minho says again, and he must be crying more, because Chan’s figure is more and more blurred, and as much as he hates crying, it’s better that way, not staring into Chan’s eyes, not seeing the sparkles, not seeing the red spots on his face, or how his curls dance over his forehead, “This song is about me,” Minho says low, not as a question or an affirmation, just words.

“Yes,” Chan says, in a whisper and Minho closes his eyes, rage, rage. Minho punches Chan’s chest, and then does it again with his other hand, they’re not strong but he can’t stop. It’s all coming down, all the walls, all the pieces, all the stars in the sky, everything is falling over Minho’s head as he punches Chan’s chest and lets the tears leave wet stricks all over his cheeks and neck.

Chan gets closer and wraps his arms around Minho, getting him closer to the chest he’s punching, and warmth is there. In the middle of wet tears and a sea that is filled with rage, violently devouring everything in front of it, there’s fire, flames, warmth, the smell of Chan’s perfume, and as the flames grow hotter and the grip gets tighter, Minho loses the strength on his hands, leaving closed fists over Chan’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” Chan whispers and Minho drops his head over his hands, he wants to scream and punch him more, but he only cries, as the waves hit his body and the fire burns his skin.

“You… Don’t have to be,” Minho whispers, in the middle of tears, and Chan doesn’t have to be, he doesn’t, he’s right there, heartless, because Minho stole his heart, Minho the darkest of lovers, took Chan’s heart. And again the only thing he has to think about is why. Chan could fall in love with his fiancé, give her his heart, not Minho, never Minho. 

“But I am,” Chan says, and the grip gets tighter again and Minho opens his hands, gripping on Chan’s shirt, and shoves his head on his chest, inhaling his perfume. He can’t never lie to himself saying he doesn’t love how he smells, that he doesn’t miss it when they’re not together, how sometimes he wishes to get out of Chan’s house smelling like him, so he won’t have to see him again.

“I can’t,” Minho says, and then whimpers loudly, Chan’s shirt getting wet under his face, “I can’t do this,” Minho says again, and his voice fails after it, cracking like his insides, “Not with you, I can’t,” Minho’s grip on Chan’s shirt gets tighter.

“Why?” And that doesn’t come from Minho for once, it’s not Minho who is desperately wanting for answers, Chan’s voice is there. Minho takes the longest of breaths, and he ends up sighing instead, unable to keep his breath steady. 

“I can’t be yours,” Minho whispers against Chan’s shirt, and he doesn’t know if Chan can hear him or not, and at that point, he doesn’t care, “You can’t be… Mine,” Minho says at last, and those words hurt, Minho doesn’t want to have something with someone he hates that idea deeply, but he hates also, not having a choice, he can’t have Chan, and he will never have him, if he wants it or not, he can’t. 

“If you could though, would you?” Chan asks, softness is so present in his voice that it caresses Minho’s ears, not as much as hearing him sing. And Chan seems to always know what to ask, what to say, how to trap Minho even more inside his own head. Minho chokes in his own long breath, tears still rolling.

“No,” He says then, slowly, and it doesn’t sound right, and Chan’s heart pounding against his forehead is making him regretful, “I mean… I don’t know,” That sounded more right, “Does it matter?” Minho asks, under his breath, and hearing the soft pounds of Chan’s heart are weirdly comforting, and the way his strong arms are embracing Minho’s body. And Minho never felt so small, so skinny, so petit, and now as he cries and shakes under the embrace of Chan, he feels like that, like he’s shrinking, or that he was always small, but never got the chance to realize. 

“It does matter, Minho,” Chan’s chest vibrates when he talks, and with the reckless pace of his beating heart, Minho feels himself calming down, he can’t stop crying, and aching, but he doesn’t feel like he’s that close to breaking in tiny little pieces thin enough to fly around with the wind.

“It doesn’t,” Minho speaks, his words slightly suppressed by Chan’s shirt, that is wetter than it used to be, Minho rubs his nose on the shirt, inhaling Chan’s scent. That doesn’t smell like anything he smelled before, and the frightening feeling that when Chan goes away, he will never be able to find that scent again, “But if I could, I would at least, try,” Trying, he was never able to try, “I can’t try,”

“I wish I could say you can,” Minho says softly and he rests his chin over Minho’s head, and Minho feels the urge to cry harder and he does, and Chan squeezes him for a while, until he’s not crying as hard, still the tears don’t stop, is like someone opened a tap that is locked, and keeps bursting out water and more water. Minho takes three very long breaths.

“Your answer,” Minho says, while sighing and shivering a little, “I don’t even have to ask, do I?” Minho says then, and the tears call themselves again, for a while, as he patiently waits to feel the soft vibrations of Chan’s chest when he speaks. 

“Probably,” There it is, the slight vibrations, that prove once more that Chan is actually there, that Chan is actually holding him, that they’re sharing that intimate embrace, “Still, yes,” It vibrates and Minho feels those words hurting, hurting deeply, wounding his insides, ripping important veins, Minho almost hears his bones cracking, and maybe it’s not even his bones, it’s the projection. That image, cracking, like fine glass that was accidentally dropped. 

“I told you this before,” Minho is cut out by his own noises, and then after a long breath that did little but enough, he opens his mouth again, “You shouldn’t,” Minho says, with sincerity, and he wished to be able to perform some magical act that would strip away Chan’s brain, rip away every feeling and every feeling he has with Minho. But Minho sadly is far from a wizard, very, very far.

“You know, I usually care a lot about your opinion,” Chan says, hesitantly, Minho can hear in his tone that he’s scared of saying things that will make Minho mad, and little do he know, that Minho wants to be mad at him, to have reasons to say no, “But in this subject only, I don’t,” He says under his breath, and Minho chuckles, under hot tears, because it’s funny the way he says it so carefully, when it’s absolutely common.

“My opinion is always right,” Minho says playfully, and he sighs right after it because those crying, sends shivers down his spine, still the mood is slightly better. He’s still in pain, and he doesn’t know if it’s ever going to leave, Minho thinks he’s destined to feel that lurking agony forever, until his last breath. 

“I was already missing you being full of yourself,” Chan says back playfully, and the vibration is much more strong because he lets out a small giggle, and Minho missed hearing him laugh, for some reason. 

“Me too,” Minho says, and then rubs his eyes on Chan’s shirt, someone was able to close the tap that was making water flow uncontrollably, maybe it’s the vibrations, maybe it’s just that his eyes are tired of melting and running, maybe the sea is reaching those times in the year when it flows normally. And almost instantly, Chan’s flames embrace his body again, “I think I never cried in front of someone that wasn’t Changbin,” Minho whispers, and it’s loud enough for Chan to hear because he moves his head that is over Minho’s head, “Seungmin isn’t there when I do, because it’s more rare than it seems, and I hate when people see it,”

“Why do you cry with me, then?” Chan asks softly, and Minho bites his lips. He wishes he didn’t cry around him, or anyone, but now his list grows from one to two. 

“In some completely fucked way that mostly, doesn’t make much sense to me,” Minho says then, quickly, and then sighs, building up some courage, “I trust you,” He whispers, and he can feel that Chan smiled, and he wishes he could see it, and at the same time, he rather never look at Chan’s face again. 

“I trust you too,” Chan says then under his breath, and he sounds happy, Minho hates that so much, because Chan’s flames are bigger and hotter, maybe it’s just that he has been holding Minho for a while, or just that Chan is probably the warmest person Minho has ever got the chance to touch. 

“It’s okay for you to do so,” Minho says, remembering that he said before that he wasn’t trustworthy, because he wanted Chan to not feel good things towards him, but now, he feels like he has to admit, both to Chan and to himself, that he’s a professional at white lies, “I’m fairly used to keep secrets,” Minho says, and then he closes his eyes, that’s common behavior, hypocrisy. 

“I knew it,” Chan says, a slight victory tone that almost makes Minho laugh, he acts so purely, even if he’s discovering a lie, and Minho can’t take it that well, “But, by that you mean?” Chan asks, and Minho wishes he didn’t, because he feels like he has to tell him the truth. 

“That I have been here before,” Minho says then, trying to be as mysterious as he can, “Not your house,” Minho says the obvious but he likes taking things out of the way, he’s neat, in everything he does, “Obviously,” He says then, and Chan lets out a small giggle that vibrates, “This situation,” Minho says then, and he wishes Chan was also a wizard, so he could see inside Minho’s mind and know what he means, without Minho having to produce sentences to explain. 

“Crying with me?” Chan says in a fairly playful tone, and Minho lets out a noise that should be a laugh, but can’t actually be acknowledged as such. 

“Yes, phone call,” Minho says then, and Chan lets out a small noise, “But I mean that my whole life was built around secrets,” Minho breathes heavily, and he lets out that small sigh that reminds him that he was crying and that for a while his breathing is not going to be even, “That once I was someone seeing a situation similar to that, from the outside, as a spectator,” Minho says, and then there’s silence, and he knows that’s Chan’s way to say keep going without being a disturbance, Minho sighs again, and he waits 15 seconds, that he counts inside his head, “My parents,” Minho sighs again, “They basically cheated on each other my whole life,” Now Chan sighs, and Minho has to shut his eyes strongly to not break down again, “I always knew it… At least it became common knowledge at some point, I suppose,” Minho lets out a laugh that is far from founding it funny, just comically tragical, “By now they both have their lives, with someone else, while still living together inside that gigantic and empty house,” Minho says and laughs again, because either he laughs or cries, so he better laugh, “I think my stubbornness is just something, hereditary,” Minho finishes and silence sets again.

“Oh,” Chan says, and it’s the only thing that leaves his lips, and Minho realizes that he has gotten too far to deny or hide the full length truth, and for the first time, the fact that what they have is temporary is comforting, because Minho can tell Chan everything, because at some point, he will leave, and he won’t have to face it, face Chan’s face and know he’s aware of those things about him. Maybe leaving is comforting after all, going away is easy, coming home is hard. 

“Do you recall when you asked if I ever fell in love, Chan?” Minho asks then, his tone is for the first strong, even harsh, Minho is witty, and he can’t allow himself to let it go. 

“I do,” Chan says simply, under his breath, like Chan knows he won’t enjoy what Minho has to say, and if that assumption is right, Minho agrees. Neither does Minho, to be fair.

“I did,” Minho says, “And that you already know,” He finishes and Chan nods, it seems like ages since Chan asked him that, by the way, the concept of time gets twisted when he’s with Chan, it feels like years, and at the same time just some minutes, “And I loved him more than anything,” Minho admits and it leaves a bad taste on his tongue, telling out loud, that just like every other ordinary human Minho has loved, has loved that deeply, “I guess I can’t say it was particularly reciprocated, at some extent, it felt like that, but he loved someone else,” Minho says, using big words to make it more professional, but making it briefly, so he doesn’t have to elaborate much. Minho feels Chan gulping. 

“You were his lover, I suppose,” Sometimes Minho forgets — or tries to — that Chan is smart, that he’s less experienced, that he’s a new soul, but still, that he’s incredibly smart. 

“Probably the darkest of lovers,” Minho says then, and that also leaves a bitter taste. Acknowledging Chan’s words, the ones that made him break apart, and pick up his pieces, over and over again. There’s a silence that stays for a while, dancing over their heads in thin air. 

“Minho,” Chan says after what felt like an eternity, and Minho is fairly comforted to feel the vibrations of his tender voice again, “I think that’s the thing I hate the most… It’s all my fault,” Chan whispered the last part, only for Minho to hear, and sadly he does. 

“Stop taking blame for everything,” Minho says, as the walls around his heart shake and drop little residues of cement over his head, he feels overwhelmingly trapped. 

“No,” Chan says, and those tiny words kind of don’t match with Chan like that man that holds him was built to say only yes, “It is my fault. I told you over the phone, it’s my choice, to be with her…” It gets lower, “To take the job,” He says then, and he sounds so deeply regretful that Minho’s heart aches, and it gets more agonizing when Chan drops his head to the side, his cheek against Minho’s hair, small curls tickling his ears. Minho takes a fair amount of long breaths, telling himself to inhale and exhale, but every breath is filled with Chan’s perfume. 

“It sounded right before me, though?” Minho asks, and rubs his nose against the now half dried shirt, but the slight wetness reminds Minho that not so long ago his eyes were melting clued to Chan’s strong and warm chest. Chan takes a breath that is forceful.

“It never sounded right,” Chan says then, and Minho feels his limbs weakening for some reason, and it almost feels like relief, like hearing about how miserable Chan feels is something that will make the guilt more bearable, and Minho knows that deep down, that’s exactly it, “You made it fairly worse, though,” Chan laughs, and Minho grins, he hates it so much, but he grins, like his body is once again out of his control, “But I regret it more than anything, my choices,” Chan says choices with a melancholic tone, that is the speaking form of his singing. Minho sighs.

“Chan,” Minho says, and ignores how his head tells him how much he loves to say his name, and hear Chan say his, “You’re too good in your heart, to realize that was the smart choice,” And as much as Minho knows he would hate to have Chan’s life, he means it, it is smart, only looking around his apartment filled with his childhood dreams. 

“Why do I feel dumb, then?” Chan asks and there’s panic there, and Minho hopes to have every single answer in the world, so Chan would feel better. 

“Do you?” Minho asks, he wants full confirmation, he wants Chan to spell everything to him, every single thing, because his heart needs to know, to understand. 

“I do,” And it’s the strongest more sure thing Chan has ever said, there something in his voice, that reminds him the way he, himself, speaks, “You know, Minho,” Chan says then, determination never leaves his tone, and it suits him, it suits him so much, and Minho wishes he could borrow Chan his cunning, “I regret all those choices, but never once I regretted meeting you,” And that sends Minho some waves of something he recalls feeling, but isn’t entirely sure how to explain, “I thought, after we kissed, that I would regret it, going back to my normal life,” Chan continues and the feeling grows, “I saw her face, thinking I would be regretful, but the only thing I could regret was not being allowed to live my life in a fucking hotel room with you,” And that almost makes Minho cry again, because as soon as those words, those sentences are finished there’s a emptiness that grows and grows inside him, a emptiness that holds hands with desperation. 

“Chan,” Minho says under his breath, because that’s everything his brain is telling him. Chan, Chan, Chan, Bang Chan, Christopher, that’s everything, all of it. All the things that linger inside him, with deep confusion, the emptiness, the despair, all of them, whisper that name. 

“Minho,” Chan says it back, and Minho wants to freeze time, he wants to stay inside Chan’s grip listening him saying his name for an eternity because Minho is not ready to let go, he doesn’t think he will ever be able to let go, and that is the most frightening of things. Because having to let go is just around the corner, and Minho wants to cry again, he wants to cry even harder, he wants to cry out every single feeling he has, until he has absolutely nothing inside him. But Minho doesn’t, he doesn’t allow himself to cry. He breathes, it hurts, even to breathe. And if he knew it, sitting on that chair, months ago, that his talks about kinks and being called hyung would bring him to this exact situation, he would’ve run away. But he now knows that he wouldn’t, if he had the chance to go back to that day, he would do it all again, because it’s more worth to suffer than leave. And that’s probably the first time Minho ever thought that way. 

“Even if you had a choice, you know I’m not the right to you, right?” Minho asks, and Chan keeps quiet, agony lingers, “Tell me you do,” That sounded more desperate than he planned, more than he ever sounded, because he wants Chan to know, he wants Chan to be absolutely sure.

“I disagree,” Chan says briefly after a lot of time in silence, and Minho hates those words, not only because it hurts his pride, but because it’s dumb of Chan, it’s so utterly dumb, “And I never understand you, Minho,” Chan says, and it’s almost like a whine, “The way you manage to see yourself as the best thing in the world, but every time we are together you keep talking about you as if you were some kind of monster,” And Minho almost lets out the longest most ironic chuckle, and his blood boils, he bites his lips and grips tightly on Chan’s shirt, he smells him once more, and then completely lets go. Ignoring the urges to go right back to it. And it’s terrifying that Chan is looking at him, his eyes, shining, in sad light, his lips are pressed into a thin line, and he adjusts himself to the lack of Minho quickly. 

“That’s how my life works, Chan,” It’s almost a hiss, and once again there it is, Minho’s signature wittiness, that cunning, and he knows his gaze is filled with a lot of things, while Chan’s just seem to be scared, “We’re are all in love with the painted, built and projected part of ourselves, I built myself up, did you know?” Minho says, and lets out almost a psychotic grin, he’s filled with so much, “I have no interest in liking my other part, though,” He says, roughly, and he stares at Chan’s eyes, and all those sad lights, Minho is trapped. 

“Why do you hide yourself behind a shell, Minho?” Chan asks then, with a tone so carefully built and so thoughtful and Minho’s witness is sent flying, because those simple words hurt more than they should, that question is not something he heard before. But inside his head, people are used to his shell, they think it’s more conformity, yet Chan has this problem, in which he has to get through Minho. 

“Because inside this shell lives someone not worth fighting for,” Minho says sharply then, and those are words that are incredibly vulnerable, so he holds his expression in place, struggling so hard to keep himself up, and it gets gradually harder when Chan’s expression looks even sadder.

“You’re worth fighting for!” Chan says loudly, in his voice there’s a new kind of desperation, one that sounds like a beg, like desperate call for help, and that leaves once again that bitter taste, “Stop hiding away from me,” Chan whispers, and there’s pain there, that bruises Minho’s skin, that hurts in a way he can’t wrap his head around. Minho sighs, very loudly.

“That’s the problem, Chan,” Minho says then, struggling to keep his expression blank, “I don’t,” And Chan’s face gets red, with surprise, his tiny eyes slightly bigger, and Minho sees Chan playing with his fingers.

“Do I…” Chan says and then fails completely to finish his own sentence, he sighs and then opens his mouth again, “Do I bring that part of you back?” Chan asks then, low, and Minho particularly wishes he didn’t, and then wishes he could lie, in which he knows Chan wouldn’t believe him. Because he already knows the answer, Minho knows that Chan knows the answer. 

“Yes, you do,” Minho says sharply, “And I rather life pretending that part doesn’t exist,” And it’s even harsher, and Chan looks sad again, and Minho remembers then “After you show, all I get is harshness” He hates that Chan readed him like a book, he hates that he’s doing the exact thing Chan sang he would.

“Because you can’t handle being flawed,” Chan says and it’s slightly passive aggressive, and that behavior coming from Chan is new, Minho hides his surprise. And then Minho sighs, and Chan is right. 

“Because I can’t handle being weak,” Minho whispers then, and his whole body aches after hearing himself saying that, and it’s almost like if he died right now, he would thank whatever waits for him for ending his misery. Chan frowns and Minho stares at him carefully.

“You’re one of the smartest people I’ve met, did you know that, Minho?” Chan asks, and now Minho frowns.

“I don’t doubt, but you never said that,” Minho says it back, quickly, he’s well known for being quick at answering. 

“You are,” Chan says then, and he places a hand on Minho’s thigh, and the touch burns his skin that is under fabric, “Still, for someone was smart as you are, I thought you knew that his whole weakness thing, doesn’t actually exist,” Chan says, and he sounds just like Minho, which is incredibly infuriating, because he likes Chan more when he’s completely clueless, even though the slight curve of his lips, and one of his eyebrows being slightly up, is hot. Minho would fuck witty Chan’s brains out.

“Why do you say that?” Minho asks frowning, letting very clear in his tone that he’s not even close to being amused by that exchange, he keeps his eyes sharp too.

“Because being weak, having weakness, are the things that make you stronger. If you weren’t weak at some point, life would go in circles, and you would end up nowhere, empty,” Chan says then, quickly, every word hitting Minho. Who once found himself incredibly dumbfounded, he waited for Seungmin, or even Changbin to say something like that, and coming from Chan, it’s unusual, and he hates it, and loves it.

“Wise sober company owners,” Says Minho then, unable to hide his own surprise, and Minho then realized the difference between him and Chan, because if that were him, he would smile and agree, bragging, but Chan just gets incredibly red, like Minho just grabbed his dick or something. One of a kind that one, Minho thinks. 

“I’m far from wise,” Chan says, and then giggles, embarrassed, and there he is, that’s Chan, with giggles, red cheeks and unable to accept compliments. Minho knows that’s why leaving Chan is the hardest, because he doesn’t think he can find him again, he doesn’t think there’s somewhere out there like him, and Minho feels that when Chan is finally gone, he will live his whole life seeking for something, or someone, and being unable to find. And that is, agonizing. 

“You were exceptional at everything you showed me,” Minho lets it slip out, and then blinks rapidly afterwards, surprised by his own words, but he doesn’t regret them, when he looks at Chan’s face, and finds him blushing violently. He’s adorable, Minho points out, way too adorable. 

“You’re complimenting me?” Chan asks in this dumbfounded tone that is actually extremely adorable too, and with his ears and cheeks all red, Minho wants to bite him. Bite him a lot.

“No,” Minho says playfully and Chan let’s out a small laugh, and Minho kind of wishes they were still close together so Minho could feel the soft vibrations of his laugh. And Minho is fucked, isn’t he? 

“I will believe that you weren’t,” Chan says then, and his eyes are incredibly soft now, and once again, his cheeks flushed red, and that small smirk. Chan’s face, that face he does to Minho often that always lures some kind of confusion, the one he can’t help but love. Because every time Chan does it, he looks almost unreal, because Minho can’t believe, for a second, someone could look that kind. 

“You better,” Minho strikes back, and smiles, Chan smiles too, straight big teeth, and everything about that smile is recomforting, and Minho keeps feeling Chan’s flames, burning hot. Silence settles in place while they stare at each other and Minho tries memorizing Chan’s face, plump lips, cupids bow well sculpted, he has a big nose but it’s incredibly straight and the tip is always red, and the corners too, his eyes are small and brown, one bigger than the other which makes him look warmer, he has strong eyebrows a little lighter than his hair, and his hair, soft, curly and dark brown falling over his forehead, Chan has some small marks on his face, but his skin is silky and pale, his chin is small and his jawline is strong and sharp, he has two earrings, one in each ear. And he’s breathtakingly beautiful, Minho notes, everything is in place, there’s no imperfections. Chan could be a model, or an idol, if he wanted. And Minho wonders if he ever wanted that, since his favorite thing is music, but he can’t see Chan under the flashes and spotlights, because he knows, Chan is too good for them.

“Minho,” Chan says, as if he knows Minho is thinking about him, as if he knows he’s the only thing inside his mind, and Minho doesn’t want Chan to know, he rather take it to his grave, the way he desperately thinks about Chan, the way he carries Chan with him everywhere.

“What?” Minho says more softly than planned, but at the same time, he never can't stop himself when he’s with Chan, can he? Things become out of control, and as controlling as he is, he always hates himself a bit more.

“I’m sorry,” Chan says, in the softest of tones and Minho smiles, because it’s tender, it's calm, it’s everything Minho rarely has. And that’s the thing isn’t it? Chan offers everything Minho never had, and never thought he so desperately needed, and it’s frightening, having it all, and knowing you’re going to lose it. And once again, the fear of spending his whole life looking for another Chan and failing strikes, and it’s a cold punch on his beautiful face, it’s a punch that breaks his nose, and Minho wants to bleed out. 

“About what?” Minho asks then, mimicking Chan’s tender tone, but it doesn’t sound like him, it works with Chan, with all the flames of his burning and warm fires, and for Minho with his excruciating coldness and coolness, it doesn’t fit, almost like he’s faking, like he’s trying to be somebody else. And after all, he doesn’t know who he is, too caught up between conflicting personalities, with the things he built, the ones he has hidden and the ones he has forgotten. Minho knows he’s a project of something bigger, a projection of expectations, a act of recklessness, reclusiness, with more hereditary things than he wants, Minho is a supercut, a supercut of everything he learned, unlearned, dealt with, and what he needs to be, to stay alive. Fighting lions to stay alive has become a common habit, and Chan is just a docile puppy, filled with shyness.

“The song,” Chan says then, camly, but there’s hesitation on his tone, one Minho is fairly used to, and got extremely surprised when he lost it, Chan is incredibly expectable, at least for Minho, and there’s something about the times he’s not that bruise Minho’s skin, like skin marks. It seems like every time Chan acts out of the blue, without his hesitance, the lights of fear on his eyes, his words get tattooed on Minho’s skin, and he knows he will live with every single one of them, there, inked, “I didn’t thought you would react like… That,” He says the last part in a whisper, almost like he’s not allowed to talk about that moment before, almost like it’s a top secret. And Minho likes the way Chan is, because he would be the complete opposite, and it would be annoying, if Chan did it with him.

“Like a whiny little bitch?” Minho says, playfully? but it’s the truth, maybe he overreacted, but he knows his limits, and Minho, as much as he looks like he does, can’t handle a lot of things, most of which he pretends he can. Minho is skilled, but terrible, absolutely awful when it comes to feelings, “Me neither,” Minho says, and Chan lets out a small giggle of embarrassment, and relief? Like he wished Minho to get pissed or something. 

“Shut up,” Chan says softly, in the middle of another giggle and it sounds like angels, his voice tender, his dimples showing, one deeper than another, and his tiny eyes clenching together, and Chan does this thing, that makes him even smaller, because he shrinks his body cutely, and Minho almost forgets about Chan’s manly beauty, “I thought you would laugh at me and tell me I’m stupid, or something,” Chan says then awkwardly, screeching his neck, and Minho burts into laughter.

“You’re dumb,” Minho says, in the middle of his laugh, and Chan laughs too, in realief, and Chan’s flames make Minho’s cheeks hot, incredibly hot. 

“Thanks, that makes me more relieved,” Chan says and Minho keeps smiling at him, and his world hours ago was broken in pieces, so many pieces and now everything seems to go back to place, for a while, smiling at Chan’s face, staring deep into the constellation of little lights inside his eyes, make Minho feel completed. He knows it’s going to be gone pretty soon, but that small feeling of being filled will stay in his memories, and that the thing about then that is everlasting, those memories of when Chan was with him. There’s silence and Minho enjoys, feeling like the stars are aligning over his head, and that it’s reflections are on Chan’s small eyes.

“Am I like that, though?” Minho asks, looking at Chan, and he kinda knows that he is, that maybe that’s exactly why he overreacted, because he knows Chan wasn’t lying.

“Like what?” Chan asks, confused and Minho smiles, Minho is always impressed by Chan’s innocence, and it's definitely because of the lack of his own. Chan is always that way, he’s not quick assuming, not ready to face every single question, he’s honest when he doesn’t, other than Minho, who finds intelligent escapes. 

“Like the song,” Minho bends his head to the side, “Closed, harsh,” He says as examples, and raises an eyebrow, and Chan frowns most likely thinking about what to answer, and Minho watches him carefully.

“I mean… Sometimes,” There it is, Chan not knowing how to answer questions, and Minho is still staring at him, blankly, “I wrote this that time you left,” Minho frowns, especially because of the slight tone of sadness on Chan’s voice, which seems like something frequent, when he talks about their old encounters. 

“I’m fairly skilled on leaving,” Minho says then, wondering about all the times he left, and how Changbin learned it from the best. That’s a common trait between them, all the three of them, leaving silently or with harsh words, and probably the only place they chose to stay, was with each other. Minho will leave everyone, without a warning, and end up at their doors.

“I realized that about you,” Chan says and it makes Minho feel morbid, because of that tone, he hates himself too much for that, because he’s also fairly skilled at never coming back, but with Chan he always does, and at times he thinks that Chan might be as confused as him. Because Minho leaves, and Chan lives with that, until Minho decides to come back and mess with Chan’s world. And Minho wishes he could leave forever, so Chan can live without him, but he never finds courage to do it. 

“Yeah,” Is the only thing Minho says, allowing his tone to be as morbid as he feels, and he almost wants to burst into laughter, because that situation makes him feel psychotic. And Minho knows there’s a part inside him so close to psychosis, and there were times where he wanted to find help, instead, he lived with it, pretending that wasn’t something that wrecked him. There’s silence, a comfortable one, but a silence that lives Minho alone with his own thoughts. 

“Minho,” Chan says after a long time of silence, and Minho concentrates then on Chan’s face, his eyes are shining, and at times, Minho wonders that if someday he sees a night filled with stars, and constellations, the only thing he will remember is Chan’s eyes. And stargazing will sound underwhelming. 

“Chan,” Minho says back, counting stars, the ones inside tiny brown eyes. If he could swim inside them, he would. 

“I would like it if you stayed,” Chan says, hesitant, and Minho bites his lips. Staying. He knows it’s not possible, he knows it’s not his choice to make, neither is Chan’s. And he doesn’t know if he would if could, something inside him says that yes, he would, another says that he would never choose to stay, embraced by someone new, that he’s not ready, and never will be. 

“I’m not skilled at staying,” Minho says then, and there’s not a slight drop of lie in there, not even a bit, Minho never learned how it felt to stay, Minho never came back at night, when he used to leave his childhood house, Minho never came back when businesses wanted him to do something more, Minho never stayed the night on Jisung’s house. That’s not Minho, Minho is always the one who got away. 

“Skills are something you learn to do,” Chan says softly, honey voice, tender, and Minho wants to smile, but he bites his lips. Why is Chan always like that? Finding ways for Minho to get out of situations he wants to struggle trying and fail. Minho hates failure, unless he wants to do so. 

“I’ll think about it,” Minho says then, and Chan smirks, pretty dimples showing. And there’s always something in Chan's expression that makes Minho confused, that makes Minho remember a little of Changbin when he used to live for Minho and Minho only. Minho is terrified there’s something inside Chan that feels exactly how Changbin used to.

“Really?” Chan says then, and there’s so much hope there, so much hope that makes Minho frightened. He’s scared to give Chan hope, he’s scared Chan will think there’s a chance they will be something. Because Minho is well aware it won’t, and that’s the only thing about this situation he’s sure of. 

“Maybe,” Minho says then, trying to strip away Chan’s hopes. As much as Chan looks beautiful, with eyes shining, with tenderness on his tone, with good feelings, as much as Chan’s flames are calm and warm, Minho is a forest, and Chan’s flames are well capable of burning Minho completely, leaving only smoke and ash behind.

“Not very used to saying yes, are you?” Chan asks and giggles, not the most happy of giggles but it is still as soft as clouds look when you’re a child and doesn’t know they are only made of gas. And that’s exactly how it is to Minho, his relationship with Chan, is looking at the clouds and thinking they’re soft and made of cotton, and then when you manage to lay down, it’s only gas, and Minho falls, deep diving in a sky so empty and blue. 

“No,” Minho says then and Chan presses his lips together, in a thin line, “Ask google, he will say that about me too,” Minho jokes, related to the way he’s picky about projects, and he’s picky about everything actually, there’s not a thing in the world that Minho would easily say yes to.

“I know,” Chan says and Minho giggles, frowning at him, and Chan’s ears are red, more than the tip of his pale nose. 

“Then you really searched me up,” Minho says smiling, one of his eyebrows up and Chan lets out a very embarrassed laugh, now the redness of his ears and nose are on his whole cheek, and he bites his plump lips. Such beautiful lips, Minho doesn’t think he will find lips like that again. Not that beautiful, soft and welcoming.

“Yes,” Chan admits and starts giggling again, his whole body moves and Chan covers his giggly face with his hands, pale, veiny hands, with red knuckles. Minho wants Chan to touch him with those hands, soft hands over burning hot bare skin, but for the first time ever, he doesn’t feel ready to be touched. There’s this lingering feeling that tells Minho that if he lets Chan run those hands around his body, he will get addicted to it, and no one ever will feel like that. Minho can’t handle a new addiction.

“Not very used to saying no, are you?” Minho says then, smirking and Chan takes his hands off his face and he’s once again biting his lips, red, soft lips. Minho is always mesmerized by the way every corner of Chan’s body is soft as silk, “What did you find?” Minho asks then, curiously. 

“A lot,” Chan says simply, and Minho is still wondering what comes up, he was never the person to do ego searches, knowing that his ego was already big already, “But not enough,” Chan says then and Minho frowns at him.

“What do you mean?” Minho asks, still frowning and Chan grins at him. Beautiful he is, beautiful. 

“Looking at pictures of you don’t make me miss you less,” 

.X. 

Minho always hated coming back home, since he was a child and he thought that when he had his own place that would change, that he would rather be in his house and not everywhere else. When he got his own place, he realized he didn’t avoid coming back home because of his parents only, Minho avoided coming home for himself. And he’s glad he won’t be alone for much, because Seungmin is almost there.

And when he's about to combust into tiny little pieces, someone rings his bell, and Minho is glad everyone has a spare key. He gave them to his friends when they thought his life was threatened, Minho has had darker times than his current one. Trying desperately to find a heart filler in huge amounts of painkillers isn’t the best of choices, but Minho made it anyway. And now he’s always ready to receive his friends in his place, which is utterly comforting. 

He goes to open the door that Seungmin could’ve opened by himself, but he didn’t. When he does, he sees Seungmin’s tall figure there, one wine bottle on a paper bag on his hand, and diamonds around his neck, as always. He gives Minho a half hug that Minho reciprocates and then passes by him like he owns the house.

“Still smells like depression,” Seungmin says loudly from the kitchen and Minho lets out a sarcastic laugh before going to find him, looking for a good crystal wine glass, “I came back to exact same, self lurking Minho,” Minho rolls his eyes, he missed Seungmin so much.

“I guess I’ll never change,” Minho says then, in a harsh tone and Seungmin moves his head back peaking at Minho, and gives him a huge smile, arching both of his eyebrows. Seungmin always looked almost baby-like, he has a cute face, cute smile, but Minho always found him far from cute, the only person other than himself that he would agree is indeed intimidating is Seungmin. And maybe that’s the point about Seungmin, he doesn’t look dangerous, so it’s easier for him to be, unexpectedly. 

Seungmin holds two glasses in his hand and places them on the corner, “Well, I never expected you to do so,” He says then, and moves to the other side, getting down and opening another counter, and easily finding a iron bucket, “You know, after all those months seeing you briefly, I wanted to see something change. But even in your house, everything is the same,” There Seungmin goes, he goes deeper, and Minho appreciates it at some point, unless Seungmin is realizing things about himself he didn’t know, or didn’t want to face. There’s no such thing Seungmin wont pick up. Seungmin fills the bucket with ice and shoves it to Minho, who grabs it close to his chest, and then a little further because his chest burns with the coldness. 

Seungmin with one hand grabs the glasses of wine and with the other the wine, and walks past Minho again, moving freely around his house, and goes straight to the huge balcony, and Minho follows him like he’s the guest, walking around a stranger’s house. And when he gets there he places the bucket on the table and sits on the chair. Seungmin opens the bottle with a bottle opener he has on his pocket always, Seungmin walks around with a bedazzled swiss switchblade at all times, and Minho always found it extremely eccentric, but it’s Seungmin, and there’s no such thing in him that isn’t eccentric. He fills the glasses with majesty.

“There’s much I want to ask you, Minho,” Seungmin says simply placing the wine inside the bucket, and Minho knew beforehand that he would be interrogated, Seungmin doesn’t let anything slip, and Changbin is unable to hide things for him either, “But I must talk about my amazing talented self before anything, or I won’t be able to focus on your self loathing,” Seungmin says and Minho rolls his eyes again, and he pictures how much annoyance people have talking to him too, because he’s fairly similar to Seungmin, but not as good with words. 

“Go ahead, brag your ass to me,” Minho says then, reaching for his cup and then settling himself on the chair again, comfortably. He takes a small sip, what an amazing wine as always, Minho is more fond of whiskey, it’s bitter and strong, it gives him deeper headaches, but Seungmin has always been too classy for distilled drinks, always opting for wine, champagne or something sweet, and it matches him well, diamonds and red wine. 

“I won’t brag much,” Seungmin says then, and sits down with his own glass in hand, holding it with his pink up, like the brits do with their tea, and he takes a small sip, and appreciates the taste before putting the glass back on the table, “Amazing choice,” He says to himself, “It’s no big news that I’m extraordinarily good at acting,” Minho rolls his eyes again, “I’m here more to complain about the ones that aren’t, or the ones that watched them fail, I’m fairly not fond of people,” Minho rises one eyebrow sipping his wine.

“None of us are,” Minho points out and Seungmin briefly agrees with his head, and reaches for his cup, while he drinks Minho watches him carefully, “I don’t even know what it is about, honestly, the drama,” Minho says and Seungmin smiles with his mouth against the glass. 

“There was times that me neither,” Seungmin says giggling and Minho smiles at him, “I never saw a nation so bad in scripts,” Seungmin says and now Minho lets out a small giggle, “It’s the same again, I’m a son of a bitch, there’s another male lead that is definitely the right choice and a female lead that is utterly dumb, and that ends up choosing me anyways,” Seungmin says annoyed and Minho keeps smiling, he loves to hear him complain. 

“And you have to kiss a girl,” Minho says and Seungmin gasps dramatically, “Poor homossexual,” Minho says sarcastically and Seungmin rolls his eyes at him, once again sipping the wine and Minho does the same, mimicking Seungmin. 

“At least Korea doesn’t make me pretend I’m fucking a girl or something,” Seungmin says in pure digust and Minho lets out a laugh, Seungmin smiles, “Could you imagine such horrendous thing?” He asks and Minho laughs.

“Definitely no,” Minho says then, sipping his wine, “And she won’t give you a diamond ring after she saw you naked,” Minho says sarcastically and Seungmin gives him an annoyed stare, “Am I lying?” He asks and Seungmin rolls his eyes.

“No,” He says then coldly and Minho enjoys his annoyance as much as he can, because he knows it won’t last much longer, at some point, he will become the topic of that conversation and that won’t be pleasing at all, “You know, she acted ok, a fairly skilled actress after all, the other male lead other than being extremely hot was a complete git, and don’t get me started on the side characters,” Seungmin complains, and Minho would call him bitter if he didn’t know he sounds exactly like that complaining about other models, “And there was someone new on staff, that one was the biggest of gits, he’s a foreign too,” And Minho wonders if that “too” is a just to point it out or a indirect mention that he knows about Chan.

Seungmin goes quiet and opens his mouth again, “Australian,” Minho realizes clearly that wasn’t just to point out, Seungmin was teasing, and Minho stares at his grin, knowing for sure Seungmin is actually teasing him, “He said he was a fan of mine, pathetic,” Seungmin says then, his face disgusted and unpleased.

“Oh, it must be horrible, Seungmin, utterly terrible, having someone that likes you on set,” Minho says incredibly ironically, and Minho glares at him, Minho grins. 

“Shut up,” Seungmin says simply, “He was so kind and stuff, always trying to please and kiss my ass,” Seungmin says and there’s rage on his voice, and Minho almost bursts into laughter because of it, he just can’t believe someone like Seungmin is real, or is that similar to him, “You know how much I hate pleasers,” Minho would agree, if that wouldn’t sound completely hypocritical of him, because Chan is indeed a pleaser. 

“Maybe he wants to kiss your ass,” Minho says and then smiles, “Hole” He finishes and Seungmin never looked so insulted, the laugh he was holding finally comes out and Minho almost spills wine all over himself, when he stops laughing he looks at Seungmin again, “Don’t tell me he’s ugly,” He says then and Seungmin rises one eyebrow, looks up and then looks at Minho again. 

“Most definitely, he is not,” Seungmin says and Minho frowns, he wants to assume something because it most definitely seems like Seungmin hates his guts in a way he does when he likes someone. Minho smiles at the thought of not being the only one that is currently liking someone, “He’s not handsome though, he’s more like… Pretty,” Seungmin says in an interesting way and Minho frowns.

“Explain yourself,” Minho says in both curiosity and teasing Seungmin into saying something that will make his assumptions true, and Seungmin sighs rolling his eyes.

“He’s small, skinny, has freckles and stuff,” Minho knows that Seungmin is avoiding that topic and it’s refreshing having someone under a imaginary gun point, someone that isn’t himself, “He’s more cuteish,” Seungmin says in a tone that is almost annoyed but no quite.

“Aw! You think he’s cute!” Minho says in a cute voice and Seungmin’s glare is burning Minho’s face, and Minho laughs at him, stomach almost hurting.

“At least, if I found him cute, he’s single,” Seungmin says then, coldly, harsh and it hits right on the spot, and Minho suddenly is serious, tense. Minho gulps and Seungmin smiles at him, like psycho, and Minho hates him for a split of a second and stays quiet, if that depends on him that conversation would end right here because Minho doesn’t have a word in mind, “I suppose my shining star moment is over, and for your discontent, it’s time for us to discuss your lowest point,” Minho hates how Seungmin talks, and the way he has a small grin on his lips, like that is entertaining.

“I’ve been lower,” Minho says harshly, in a hiss, and Seungmin smiles at him. Minho glares at him, with a burning passion.

“I’m respectfully disagreeing,” Seungmin says then in a smile, Seungmin has this way of thinking, that is considered maybe his biggest flaw, Seungmin loves the drama, he has at this point blackmail in almost everyone he has ever exchanged two or three words, “You know, as I said before, I never expected you to change, but I did expect somewhere that I wouldn’t commit the same mistakes again,” He says and Minho sighs, loudly, finishing his wine in one big gulp, he hates that it doesn’t burn as much as whiskey, and he hates that if that were whiskey, he would remember Chan, the burning that he passes on and the bottle of whiskey inked forever on his body. 

“You should know by now that I will keep committing the same mistakes,” Minho says then, grabbing the bottle and filling his glass, not even slightly as majestic as Seungmin did, and Seungmin frowns at him.

“You know, Minho, I try to,” Seungmin says then, sipping his wine slowly and Minho is still glaring as he does the same, a bigger sip, of course, “You know this is the dumbest thing you’ve ever made, right?” Seungmin says with one eyebrow up, smug face, as always.

“Yes,” Minho says simply, and Seungmin smiles at him again, eyes still blank and a smug eyebrow up. That’s another drinking factor and Minho almost finishes the whole glass again. 

“You know this can go terribly wrong for both of you?” There’s a huge emphasis on both and now Minho finishes his drink, “That Jisung wasn’t famous, and you were, and that Bang Chan is internationally known just as you?” Minho sighs and he hates the way Seungmin says Chan’s name, like he’s not human, but he doesn’t expect Seungmin from all people to care about Chan.

“Yes, Seungmin, I’m well aware,” Minho says then, pissed off, with a tone that is so passive aggressive that he feels like a teenager again, and Seungmin’s smile doesn’t fade, actually it seems even more psychotic, “My brain doesn’t allow me to think otherwise,” Minho confesses and there’s a slight change on Seungmin’s gaze, that wouldn’t be noticed if Minho didn’t know him like he knows his own self. 

“Understood,” Seungmin says then, and crosses his legs, “With that out of the way, I support you on this,” Seungmin says calmly and Minho almost chokes on his own spit, in complete disbelief.

“What now?” Minho says, his tone dumbfounded and Seungmin lets out a small laugh, that sounds adorable, if Minho is honest. 

“I think all those things, even more deeply than you might,” Seungmin says, and Minho doubts that, because lately that’s the only thing his brain tells him, the only reminder that keeps popping out, “Yet, I’ve never seen you like that,” Seungmin says and Minho frowns.

“Like what? You’re here for like 10 minutes,” Minho asks, still confused, his lips pressed in a thin line as Seungmin frowns at him again.

“Desperate,” Seungmin says then and Minho gulps, knowing that’s exactly the last thing he wants to be, “I can see in your eyes, Minho, if you thought, even for a split of a second that you can hide anything from me, you were so utterly wrong,” Seungmin says again, like he’s bragging and he probably is, Minho knows that Seungmin is very much proud of his talents on reading people, especially Minho, whose is known for being unreadable. 

“I didn’t think you couldn’t, I just wasn’t expecting you to do so,” Minho says then simply and fills his cup again, now he takes a small sip, like the ones Seungmin does. 

“Well, as always you were too quick on assuming things,” Seungmin says like a burn, that Minho takes well because indeed Seungmin is not lying, and that’s the thing, if anyone but Seungmin were sitting there, throwing bombs left and right, Minho would be almost instantly defensive, but he knows Seungmin enough to know that he doesn’t let out burns to get him pissed - even though he does - Seungmin likes to throw bombs to teach him a lesson, “Since Changbin called me whining like the big fucking baby he is, I’ve thinking about this situation,” Minho rolls his eyes.

“Of course, of course, he told you,” Minho says rolling his eyes again, Changbin’s problem is not always being overly concerned, his problem is like he acts like Seungmin is the dad, and he’s the mom telling “I’ll tell your father when he gets home” and Minho has grown to hate completely that kind of behavior, because he’s not a fucking child. Minho rolls his eyes once again.

“Yes, and I would expect to hear it from you, not from him,” Seungmin says and it sounds like he’s scolding, and Minho sighs so hard that he feels his blood pressure going slightly down.

“I wasn’t going to bother your work with my silly little affairs,” Minho says then and Seungmin chuckles, in a very non playful or light way, it’s a sarcastic chuckle.

“First, you don’t bother me, never,” Seungmin says and it’s in a tone that is still harsh and cold, but that makes Minho feel warm, in some way, “And second, you know that it’s not a silly affair, all, literally all of us know, this thing you have with the hot chaebol is very far from a silly affair,” Seungmin says and Minho feels a weird pain inside him, he breathes heavily because he knows that Seungmin is right, that even though it is an affair, that he’s another lover, that relationship - if Minho dared to call it that - is deeper than a husband cheating on his wife fucking Minho for fun.

“What makes you think that?” Minho asks already knowing the answer and maybe he’s a little bit masochist to even ask, because he knows Seungmin is not kind with his words. But there’s something in Minho that needs all the harsh and logical answers, because as it is right now, he has ignored them all. 

“Uh, let me give you a list, shall I?” Seungmin says rhetorically and Minho holds back one of that lower blood pressure sighs, so he will not interrupt that very unpleasant situation, “First of all, you answered his texts, not only once, several times, check?” Seungmin says and now Minho sighs, nodding, “You not only answered his texts, but you chose to go meet him again, not once, several times, check?” He says again and Minho forcefully closes his eyes, nodding again, “I’m well aware that you kissed him but you guys haven’t even fucked yet,” That’s an affirmation and Minho wished he could deny, but he nods and Seungmin shakes his head in disappointment, Minho guesses, “And I’m also aware that you, Lee Minho, cried because of this situation,” And of course Changbin told him that too, he would punch Changbin if he was somewhere to be seen. 

“Not once, several times,” Minho quotes Seungmin, in which sighs, and for the first time there’s concern inside Seungmin’s eyes, who makes Minho feel a bitter taste on his tongue. God fucking damn. 

“Noted,” Seungmin says then, his voice that always sounds rough just a little bit more soft, and Minho bites his lips, “What is it about him, Minho? I have most of the answers, still that’s something I can assume by myself, and you have to tell me,” No Minho doesn’t have too, in fact, he doesn’t want to, and he would rather throw himself of the balcony and feel his brain splashing out of his skull on the cold ciment than telling, but there’s no such thing as a choice when it comes to his friendship, Minho would never lie to neither of them. 

“More than I can explain, I suppose,” Minho says then quietly, and gulps, “He’s warm, I guess,” Minho says then and moves himself uncomfortably on his sit, and there he goes, drinking the whole glass of wine in one gulp.

“That’s not enough,” Seungmin says them his eyebrows up and Minho sighs, he knows it isn’t because there’s so much more, and his warm is not enough to keep Minho around, at lot of people are warm, and usually that’s the reason Minho stays away from them. But Chan kept Minho around, for longer than anyone but Jisung, and Minho is stuck.

“I don’t know how to say it, Seungmin,” Minho says then and sighs because he feels exhausted, and filling his body with nothing but expensive wine is not very good for him either, “I’ve never been good with feelings, it’s far from my expertise,” And with that Seungmin presses his eyebrows together.

“So there’s feelings, actual difficult feelings?” Seungmin says and Minho nods, gulping hard, and Seungmin lets out a lot of air from his nose, “It’s not just you being horny, reckless and needy as it used to be?” Seungmin asks again and Minho nods, sulking into his chair, he fills his cup again, because he needs some help, and his pack of cigarettes is inside the apartment somewhere, “Then try, try explaining it, if nothing makes sense, I’ll help you piece it together,” That is extremely supportive in fact, and he knows that he needs Seungmin’s logic to help him find a answer, because Changbin gives him the same thing he’s avoiding, a vision from his heart, and a very hesitant view too. He remembers his talk with Changbin how dumb lovely things came out easily, because it’s always like that, seek Changbin for support, Seungmin for getaways.

“It’s hard, Seungmin, last time, when Changbin was here, he asked me if I liked Chan, you know, romantically,” It’s disgusting for him to even say romantically, that’s just a thing Minho is far from liking, “And I told him I didn’t know, but I guess I know now,” Minho says and he feels like someone gripped his heart and squeezed it very tightly.

“And you do?” Seungmin asks then, and it does sound soft, and Minho almost smiles. And Minho takes thought, once again, he remembers Changbin’s words, when he asked how it felt, to be in love with someone, the missing Changbin said and that’s the thing he said before to Changbin too, that he missed Chan, and he does, most of his days are just missing Chan and the way he smells, laughs, talks and now, the way he sings, yearning, he remembers, and that it’s the exact word because Minho knows he doesn’t just misses Chan occasionally, that’s it's not something like “Oh, it's been a while since I saw that person,” it’s almost instant, when Chan goes a little further away, when their lips are not entwined, when Minho’s walks away from the room they used to be, it’s just instantly. The need and the urge, that’s something he has come to terms with, a long ago, when he kissed that boy that looked slightly like Chan, but not for a second felt like him, and Minho realizes that since the third time he saw Chan, all those things were laid down in front of him, and he didn’t bother to read into, because of his fears, and all the things he’s certain. Minho nods, and Seungmin nods back, “Noted” he would say, if he didn’t realize that’s something Minho is dealing badly with, and Minho is glad he doesn’t say it.

“Elaborate then,” Seungmin says and Minho sighs nodding and Seungmin stays quiet, analyzing every and any move Minho does. Minho knew that knowing Chan’s face from head would come handy, and that all the times he keeps hearing the things said to him, being unable to forget, would matter at some point, other than just casually driving him mad. Chan is most of the things Minho thinks are good, and exactly all the things Minho himself isn’t, or that he thinks he would be at some point. That’s the point he over thinks about often, finding in Chan someone he wished he could be, but isn’t. 

“Seungmin,” Minho says and Seungmin nods at him, waiting patiently, “Chan makes me feel complete, I always knew I was lacking, yet Chan gives me everything I never thought I needed,” Minho lets out and for once there’s no smug on his voice, no such thing as confidence, just the desperate truth he thought he would never say out loud, “Coming back to Chan, as wrong as it is, as much as I hate myself every single time I do, coming back to Chan is like coming back home, and I never thought I had a home, other than both of you,” Minho completes and as soon as he stops talking his throat clogs, and the sea waves inside his body form a huge have, those ones that forms on the beaches people go for surfing, and as beautiful and mesmerizing as they are, when it all hits the sand it takes Minho with, inside the unbearable cold waters. And Minho cries. 

Seungmin’s face goes from surprised, to dumbfounded, to scared and then deep and lingering concern as Minho chugs down the whole glass of wine like he just got home from a desert after months of dehydration. And Minho knows things are far from good when that expression is present on Seungmin’s face, not Changbin’s and he’s glad it isn’t Changbin, because Changbin would cry with him. Seungmin touches Minho’s thigh and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“You’re fucked,” Seungmin says and Minho realizes that he tried his best making his tone playful and light, that this is Seungmin’s way of trying to make Minho stop crying. But he can’t, and he hates it so deeply, because at this point he cried more about Chan than he ever did for anything else, and he doesn’t think he ever felt that frightened before, Minho is hopeless, and trapped, he knows he feels for Chan, he knows all those things he told Seungmin, and he knows also that there’s no coming back, and no kind of future either.

“I know,” Minho says and chuckles, cleaning his nose with the back of his hand, and Seungmin smiles, with kind eyes filled with concern. And Minho feels his insides hurting and blooming, like Chan placed small seeds of flowers inside him and now they’re blooming and growing, and their thorns are brushing against his insides, and they keep growing, until Minho has nothing inside but the flowers Chan placed there. And the worst part is that Minho knows that when Chan leaves, the flowers won’t die, still consuming every part of him. Lest we die unbloomed. 

“What do you want to do about it?” Seungmin asks and Minho bites his lips, he doesn’t know either. And then what could he do, it’s not like there’s a way out, other than completely forget about Chan, and it sounds like the easy way out. Minho is certain that’s the only thing he could do, but Minho doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to leave Chan behind - as much as he knows someday he will have to do so - it sounds like a sin, never calling his name again, it is an unforgivable sin. He can’t go back in time and change Chan’s mind about his life choices, and it would be worthless, because that way Minho wouldn’t have met Chan at all, he would be another Australian citizen and Minho an empty model, waiting for him. Minho can’t make Chan change his mind now either, and if Chan wanted to do so, if he asked Minho, he wouldn’t allow him to give up because of a dark lover. 

“I guess I’ll enjoy it while I still have it,” Minho says, only because at that point he knows that’s exactly the only thing that he has to do. Enjoying while it lasts, and he’s unsure how long it will, maybe some days, weeks, months even, a year sounds like too much. They’re more temporary than a whole year. 

“And then what? You will live this amazing world hidden and then just let him leave? What will you do when it ends, Minho? I’m not even a little worried about you fucking and kissing him right now, the aftermatch worries me,” Seungmin says and Minho lets out a big sigh, that is fairly weird sounding because of his cries.

“I have no fucking clue,” Minho says then and he laughs, a laugh of desperation, “At least I know it will,” Minho says and Seungmin lets out a small sigh shaking his head, and Minho laughs again, because his body doesn’t know how to react anymore, it’s been a while that it is too much. There’s so much inside him, and it hurts like fucking helll.

“Minho, I’m not used to feeling this, but I’m fairly worried about you,” Seungmin lets out in a breath and Minho laughs again, once again finding no other reaction, his body feels too tired to cry, wine makes him fairly dizzy to be fair.

And that it is, the fear, because Seungmin did not lie saying he’s not used to feeling like that, Seungmin rarely does, because he trusts Minho’s strength, his thick skin, Minho knows how much Seungmin admires him for that and how much he had influence on the way Seungmin acts right now. Minho has yet to decide if he liked that or not, because right now he knows how close he is, actually someone sang him how closed’ he is, and he doesn’t want Seungmin to closed’ himself that much too. Minho sometimes forgets for a split of a second that they were slightly younger than him, that they were pure to the core before Minho actually teached him the ways to act, and maybe that makes both of them hurt less, and maybe that makes them hurt even more, and now Minho knows that for him it hurts. Then it strikes him like a bang and a curse, the way Minho is by now, the most lost he has ever been, and he’s old enough to sort things out, yet incapable of such thing.

“You know, Minho,” Seungmin says then, realizing that Minho’s silence is not only him giving those words some thoughts but also because he’s speechless, “It’s fairly refreshing, you know,” Seungmin goes on and Minho frowns, “Seeing you falling like that, it’s far from pleasing, but reassuring,” Minho rises an eyebrow. 

“Why?” He simply asks and Seungmin lets out a small grin.

“It reminds me you’re human and by default that I’m human too,” And Minho smiles at that, at least his suffering isn’t utterly pointless, he knows also that it will bring him, at some point, maybe even years from now, some kind of realization, because he knows Jisung’s situation did, some realizations in which he knows he ignored, when he got inside Chan’s warm hotel room back in Paris.

“I guess we did get attached to the acting like a robot thing,” Minho says then and Seungmin smiles faintly at him, and there’s actually some slight vulnerability in the way Seungmin smiles at him, something in his eyes that almost makes him look just cute for a second, “It’s better this way isn’t it? Pretending we’re unhuman,” Minho asks then and Seungmin calmly nods.

“Yes,” Seungmin says simply, “But at times it’s frustrating, because you realize that you are,” Seungmin says and Minho laughs because that’s exactly how he felt.

“I guess that’s my issue with this, Seungmin,” Minho says with slight confidence but with a slight reluctance too, “Chan makes me realize that I’m human, that I’m real, and not just a projection of what I’m supposed to be,” Minho says and he gulps, Seungmin’s face is still blank, and he learned it from the best, that now is the worse, “With him I’m no longer Lee Minho the model, Lee Minho the catch, Lee Minho the famous, I’m just Minho, and I don’t know who Minho is,” He says then, and it sounds more desperate than he sounded in the beginning, no more confidence, just reluctance, a lingering reluctance.

Seungmin actually smiles, “I guess that should be the whole point of this, figuring out who Minho is, because you already know how people see you,” Seungmin says then and there’s something so smart on the way he talks, Minho remembers clearly how Seungmin would trip over his words, roll his eyes looking for something to say, and sometimes it hits him that Seungmin has matured, and maybe outgrown Minho himself, the one that instructed him on how to act, “And people often see you, you’re not even a little forgettable,” And Minho smiles, because coming from Seungmin that’s what you call a compliment, he never was the person to call you hot or pretty, he’s more thoughtful, maybe it’s a virgo thing, “I already know Minho, you know, I’ve been with him before Lee Minho ever existed,” 

“And how’s he like?” Minho asks softly and Seungmin rolls his eyes before opening his mouth to speak.

“The strongest person I’ve ever known,” Seungmin says then, and there’s softness there, tenderness, in which don’t sound like Seungmin and at the same time it fits him just perfectly, “Other than myself, of course,” Seungmin brags and Minho actually smiles.

“I can’t even deny it, even though you got that from me, you’re indeed much better at it than me,” Minho admits, and that’s something he doesn’t admit often, not being the absolute best at everything, but he would never lie to Seungmin, omit maybe, but never lie, “Minho for me is just someone messy and weak, I can’t stand him,” Minho says and Seungmin laughs at him. 

“Minho is not weak,” He keeps the third person thing, and it actually doesn’t sound very odd for him though, because Minho feels like that, like himself and his other part are two different people, it’s just that they live in the same body, “He’s very messy, and the way he deals with things can be mistaken by weakness, Lee Minho thinks that way, Kim Seungmin thinks it’s pretty strong of him to let it all out,” Seungmin says then and there’s something so reassuring about the way Seungmin shows support, he’s not sorry for Minho, and Minho knows that actually Seungmin thinks that there’s no reason to feel sorry for something he did, and it’s conflicting from Changbin’s point of view. And that’s probably why Minho kept them both around, because Minho gets both, both the visions. And it’s amazing. And there’s Chan’s vision that falls right in between Seungmin and Changbin. And Minho knows what to say.

“Chan told me the same thing,” He states then and Seungmin has one eyebrow of his up, clearly interested, Minho knows that if he spent the whole afternoon talking about every single detail of how Chan acts, every single thing he memoried about Chan’s face and Chan’s body, everything Chan ever said, Seungmin would sit there and hear him, talking mental notes, Seungmin is the psychiatrist type, he enjoys hearing about Minho and and analysing everything, “He told me that having weakness is what makes you stronger, I don’t really have a opinion on this,”

“I agree with him, you’re only like this right now because you suffered,” Seungmin points out and Minho carefully nods.

“You who have suffered, find love where it hides,” Minho says and Seungmin frowns at him, he knows Seungmin is not into poetry, he isn’t either, as he once stated, he likes it only when it’s gay, “It’s from a poem, called Kill Your Darlings,” Minho says briefly, leaving the whole story behind that poem for another day, when that conversation is more casual than important, “Chan has it tattoed on his chest, the name, kill your darlings, and I quoted that part,” Minho says and Seungmin nods, obviously taking notes, and Minho doesn’t care, because he wants to talk about Chan, and he’s so glad Seungmin wants to hear it.

“How do you know that?” Seungmin asks then and one eyebrow is up, he’s fairly interested and Minho feels kind of embarrassed and that sounds so fucking weird, and he bites his lips, instead of showing any outing reaction.

“I asked him to show me his tattoos, he surprised me because he had a lot,” Minho starts and then his head is filled with memories, the inking, the texture, the way the places left untattooed were as soft as cotton, how much his finger tingling, running through the extent of his body, and how incredibly intimate it was, and now that Minho knows that Chan was never touched like that, it gets even more intimate, and Minho almost thinks he doesn’t deserve to be the one to touch him like that, and he’s not sure who does, “His whole chest, a little bit of his abdomen, his whole back, and his thighs, nothing on his arms or anywhere someone can see them,” Minho says and then remembers those milky and freshly shaved thighs, and how new that whiskey bottle was. Minho comes into the realisation that Chan got there before they met and that makes his lips form a thin line.

“Wouldn’t he be naked to show you those?” Seungmin asks and Minho is shoved away from his thoughts very quickly by that, they’re going into new territory and Seungmin is quick, he never lets someone slip. 

“He was in his underwear, to be fair,” Minho says then and lets out a breathless giggle, he knows he will have to tell Seungmin everything, there's no way out, “He said he would have to be almost naked to show them, and I said I didn’t care, and he said he didn’t care too,” Minho points out and Seungmin almost closes his eyes, glaring in interest, “I touched them too, they’re very nice,” Minho sounds so dumb, like touching a guy isn’t something he’s very used to do.

“And you didn’t act up?” Seungmin asks very carefully and Minho giggles again, it sounds more like a call for help than anything else, and he doesn’t know why it makes him so embarrassed, he feels like Chan. 

“No that time,” Minho says, omitting, even though Seungmin obviously catched up with him as soon as he said it, but at least it gave him more time to get used to saying out loud. 

“Not that time, uh?” Seungmin said then and there's this goddamn smug grin on his face that made Minho want to throw himself off of the balcony once again, and god damn that was a current thought.

“I sucked his dick yesterday, I tried my best to avoid it, but he has a very suckeable dick,” Minho says uncomfortably and Seungmin actually laughs, which makes him a little bit more relieved.

“I would get worried if you didn’t,” Seungmin says and then Minho realized that’s the only typical behavior of his that he ever had with Chan when it comes to actual intimate interaction, and that thinking that was embarrassing was actually pretty dumb and Minho laughed, “As much as I love hearing details about dick, I feel slightly uncomfortable hearing you talk about the dick from the man you love,” Seungmin says and Minho panics and then freezes.

“I don’t love him,” He says coldly and more sure of himself, “I would love to make you uncomfortable, so, it’s big, like actually big, and thick, veiny, the tip is red, it’s the prettiest dick I’ve seen,” Minho says grinning, and yes it was, and Minho expected at least a small dick, but Chan would let him get way without knowing how fucking perfect he is.

“I take it back, I would like to hear about his dick, I found it pleasing,” Seungmin says and Minho almost feels jealous but instead he smiles, “And not yet,” Seungmin says and Minho frowns at him.

“What?” Minho asks.

“You don’t love him yet,” Seungmin says and Minho never glared at someone that hard, there’s a growing rage inside him he can’t explain, Minho doesn’t love anyone but his image and his best friends, and that’s not changing, “Don’t look at me like I’m lying, you know deep inside you, you know it too,” He says and Minho is still glaring, and he takes the longest of breaths to stop himself from responding, and keeping that silly subject on place. No Minho is not going to love him, and Minho is not going to love anyone, not anymore, there’s not a slight part inside him that believes he will. 

“There’s much about him that is pleasing, other than his dick,” Minho goes as if Seungmin never said that, and yes talking about Chan is probably going to prove Seungmin right, yet Minho is certain and that’s something that if Seungmin wants to assume, it’s better for him, because he can tell him all about it when he proves his wrong, “I don’t know if he’s your type, I didn’t even know he was mine, but I take a wild guess he is,”

“Because you’re so attracted to him it makes you sound stupid,” Seungmin says like a burn and Minho laughs, because once again, he’s far from lying on that instance, he is, he’s so fucking dumb around Chan, and he came to terms with it, that’s he’s nothing but a feral animal.

“Quite,” Minho says then grinning, at this point getting back to the comfort of ranting about Chan to someone but himself, “He’s so muscular, not like ugly muscular, just right,” Minho says then and there it is again, the eyebrow up.

“Like his dick,” Seungmin jokes and Minho lets air out of his nose, in a held back laugh.

“Yes, Seungmin, like his dick,” He says dumbfounded, and it’s actually so okay to talk about this with Seungmin and it didn't seem nearly as possible when it started, “He has good bone structure, strong jaw, a very defined big nose and big soft lips, and the oddest, his eyes are small, the only thing actually small about him being the one that carries almost everything,” That goes out not nearly close to what he meant, because he sounds dreamy, and it used to be a simple list, just things he noticed. 

“Go on, I know you want to rant about his eyes, and I’ve seen him before, he can get it,” And Minho laughs, knowing that yeah he can get it, Minho knows he’s capable, he has seen the way his get darker when they get intimate, and also Minho knows he never got it. And he would like to keep that away from Seungmin, if he can. 

“Shut up,” Minho says sharply, but gives in, “His eyes are beautiful, and brown, sometimes under proper lightning, they get very light, almost honeylike,” Minho realized than that he never got a good glance of how Chan looked during the day, that not once he saw Chan under sunlight, and that hits him, knowing the will always hide on the darkest nights, the darkest of lovers, Minho thinks then, “I saw it get darker too, almost like he has black eyes, but mostly I see them shine, I notice it often, how his eyes shine like he holds stars inside it,” Once again, dreamy. 

“You know that he loves you right?” Seungmin says and Minho’s expression gets neutral, like he can’t find a possible reaction, and he can’t, he can’t find an answer, Chan has never said it with those words, but after the song, Minho is afraid he does. 

“I don’t think he loves me, like real love, but I’m well aware he’s in love with me,” Minho said and there it is that interested look on Seungmin’s face and he both hates and loves the way everything is entertaining to him, and Seungmin is like that always, when Jisung came around he did almost the same thing, but it was lighter, because it was the first time and Jisung was the first in many things, but Minho didn’t feel that way with Jisung though, maybe the guilt helps, with the hopelessness and Minho didn’t give a shit about being a lover back then, it was just that desperation of feeling loved, and accepting anything, Minho was foolish, and it ruined him, and Minho is a bit foolish with Chan too, “I don’t think he ever tried to hide it, and he still doesn’t,” And that makes Minho’s heart warm, the way Chan is shameless, and it reminds him of himself back then.

“Well, that’s obvious,” Seungmin says, and Minho stares at him, “I got it from Changbin, and the way you speak nicely of him, people aren’t that nice if they’re not in love,” Seungmin says and Minho moves his head to the sides, disagreeing.

“No, Chan is actually that kind, he didn’t even started the things with me with an actual flirt, he was worried because I was shaking, and I tried to get anything malicious, and when I failed, I took the coat,” Minho says and it takes him back, to that red seat, the ugly lighting, and the first time he saw eyes that pure, and Minho always will be dumbfounded to find those eyes looking at him, and every time would feel like the first one, the way they seem to shine with different constellations.

“I find that hard to believe,” Seungmin says honestly and his face is rather confused, and Chan’s like that, confusing, so utterly confusing, so out of the blue, spontaneous and good hearted, and Minho never met someone quite like him and that’s the point isn’t it, that he’s sure he won’t find someone like him ever again. 

“I do too, sometimes I woke up in the morning and I’m almost certain Chan isn’t real, that I made him up in my mind,” Minho says and he actually never thought of admitting that, and those mornings always felt weird, like everything was out of place, even though every single piece of his room was exactly as he remembered, and it doesn’t matter how many times he adjusted some furniture it took him hours to realize that he’s real, that Chan is real and that everything is on place. 

“Minho, are you dissociating again?” Seungmin asks the most careful he has ever been, and Minho smiles faintly because that’s what his body tells him to do, and Seungmin makes a thin line with his lips and one slight dimple appears, he remembers Chan’s, and Chan is real. 

“Yes, I’ve never stopped, and that’s beside the point,” And for the first time Seungmin allows it, and Minho sees that he gulps, and Minho knows he is swallowing his preoccupation very hard, “And how could it be real? He’s just way too much to be real, to exist in the same world as me,” Minho says because he’s sure he doesn’t deserve to breathe the same thin air Chan does, and not as close as he gets at least.

“Because you are from two different worlds,” Seungmin notes and that makes a hell lot of sense because they aren’t, Chan is from another country, the whole business thing, it’s further from the world Minho lives on, with all the flashes and buzzing sounds. 

“When I went to his house, it was crazy to me, he living a few blocks away from me, but being worlds apart,” And Minho remembers who dislocated he felt, when he was standing there in front of that huge ass building that wasn’t nearly as far as Minho thought, the way Chan was so close to be touched and so away from being held.

“You do, and that’s the magic I’ve analyzed, you and your thing for opposites, and I hope you don’t find it out that you were more similar tuen you expected,” Minho understood that but Seungmin opened his mouth again, “Like you did with Jisung, it was too late, be careful Minho, I know that's not your expertise, but use your knowledge about this situation as a advantage not as a weakness,” And that’s the smartest thing that had ever came up about wondering about Chan, because now that Minho choose to stay, the fact that he knows this situation can’t no longer been seem as a shame, he can used that to get out in time, before everything shattered and Minho smiles at Seungmin, who smiles back. 

They drink more wine and when Minho is dizzy enough he breaks the silence, “I think I’m right though, about the pure thing, I mean he hasn’t even-“ Minho cuts himself because he’s dizzy but not dizzy enough to throw it out at Seungmin. But it’s too late.

“He hasn’t even what?” Seungmin asks and he does it shapely and Minho gulps, and then his head hurts and he thought that waiting some minutes would help, maybe Seungmin would drop it and say he was kidding, but he’s still there watching Minho every move carefully. 

“It’s not okay for me to tell you,” Minho says and then Seungmin chuckles. 

“When did that stop you from telling me something?” Seungmin asks and Minho hates that he’s right he hates that he’s dizzy, he hates that he has bad fucking head ache bothering him too, wine is so sweet it makes you forget how drunk you can get from it. 

“Chan is different it’s a secret and,” Minho cuts himself out because that sounded dumb is his headache got worse. 

“You care about him, don’t you?” Seungmin asks then and Minho freezes in place, neither does he want to tell Seungmin that too and fucking hell, why does Seungmin likes to trap him, always, he does that always, “Tell me you care about him and you don’t have to tell me the secret,” Seungmin offers and at that point with a dizzy he doesn’t know what do to, which one is the right choice.

“He’s a virgin!” Minho screams and says it as quickly as he could and both of Seungmin’s eyes widened in surprise and then a few seconds after it Seungmin has come back to a slight grin, that mothefucker is pleased. 

“Not nearly as bad as I thought, and I admit that is a little… Pure, poor kid imagine having their first sexual things with you,” Seungmin says and Minho glares at him half confused half already guessing and getting pissed.

“He’s not a kid, he’s as old as we are, as I said, and I stand by it, Chan is rather pure,” That sounded much more like Minho, passive aggressive, and Seungmin nodded slightly, “And what do you mean by that?” Minho has flames coming out of his eyes, and Seungmin bursts into laughter, leaving Minho rather confused. 

“As much as I hate remembering that, or telling you at all, we were once young and emerging into reckless waters, and we fucked a lot Minho,” Minho gets utterly embarrassed and he’s about to go completely ill, once upon a time neither of them realized how fraternal their relationship was, and it wasn’t complicated to neither of them either, getting off, and also with his new knowledge he knew that was a set off for the rivalry of the century, Seungmin and Changbin, who are now nothing than his brothers that he got a big… Tangled with, “And you were talented back then, I can't even imagine how talented you are at it now,” And Minho smiles, and Seungmin rolls his eyes, “And for a virgin to take you? You’re killing your constellations inside eyes boy,” Minho rolls his own eyes on the way Seungmin has put it. 

“I’m not planing on actually fucking him, both ways,” Minho says and that is incredibly serious and he hates how much Seungmin is laughing now, his whole retangular shaped body shaking as he does it, while Minho glares.

“Oh, fuck off Minho,” Seungmin says in the middle of his hysterical laughter, small tears on the corner of his eyes, “You’re going to tell me that? Really? Me?” Seungmin says and then laughs again and Minho ignored the urge to give him a good head slap like he used to. But he reluctantly smiles at the joy of his best friend.

“No, Seungmin, I’m deadly serious… I don’t want to be the one to… Bloom him,” Minho says then and Seungmin stops all his movements and then bites his lips, the corner of his lips going up, and then he can’t take it, Seungmin bursts into laughter again, and Minho is there looking at him dumbfounded.

“Bloom him? For real Minho? What are you, a medieval prince?” Seungmin says in between laughs and Minho sighs so loudly that someone passing by the street could hear it.

“He would be embarrassed if I said-,” Seungmin cuts him right away. 

“If you said you’re going to take his virginity? Fuck him? Shag him?” Seungmin says and Minho rolls his eyes because Chan would flush all over if Minho ever looked at Chan and told him he’s goimg to fuck him, take his virginity, or shag him. He’s like that.

“He gets easily embarrassed by those things!” Minho says defensively and Seungmin wipes the tears off of his eyes and straightens himself in the chair.

“What are you Minho, a babysitter? You just told me that he’s not a kid,” And Minho feels a sudden rage inside his body, if that weren’t Seungmin in there one the people he loved the most in the world Minho would punch him, like a hard punch on his nose. But other than that he lets a big fucking sigh.

“Because he’s not! He just isn’t fucking curupted as we are and he choose to wait!” Minho sounds way more louder than he should be and that shuts Seungmin up right away, so Minho keeps up, “And of course it’s embarrassing for him, he couldn’t even speak about sex, I said he was different, and I like that about him!” Minho takes a long breath calming himself down but his hand are still slightly shaking, “And I can’t be his first, because clearly he has waited for it and I he deserves something better than me,” That part goes extremely low, almost shaky, and there his whole anger goes as he relaxes his body that he didn’t even knew was so tense and sulks into his own chair.

Seungmin is rather quiet for a good five minutes and then he looks at Minho with something interesting in his eyes, “You don’t have to tell me you care about him you know?” Seungmin asks rhetorically and Minho raised one of his eyebrows, “I know you do, and as our conversation progressed, I realized that you care a lot, a huge lot,” Seungmin doesn’t say it like a bomb though in which is basically his normal tone, it’s almost like he’s worried and a bit proud, and Minho gets confused listening to it, he lets out a sigh.

“I really do,” Minho admits then, Seungmin presses his lips together again, and Minho listens the small sigh of his, when he does so, “I care more about him than I care about myself, and it’s terrifying,” Minho giggles after it, trying to make the mood less heavy, to pretend that is not as serious as intended but he knows it is, and he knows Seungmin knows it too.

“It’s kinda beautiful though,” Seungmin says calmly and then rises his shoulders, “But yes, it is, because that shows that you’re more fucked than I expected you to be,” Minho laughs, because of the comical morbidity of that statement, because of the fact that it’s true, that Minho is indeed completely fucked. 

“Yup, I am,” Minho says finally, and Seungmin lets out a small giggle.

“Minho,” He calls, and Minho raises both of his eyebrows, paying attention, “Things are going to be okay, you know that right?” No Minho doesn’t, he doesn’t see things getting okay, he doesn’t see much but his own despair, his own needs, and the way they’re unavoidable. 

“Yes,” Minho says and he’s lying, but Seungmin doesn’t seem to care, because he stays silent. Minho leans more into his own chair.

Seungmin made things clearer than Changbin did, and he was already expecting that, and that might be the magic of their friendship, go to Changbin for questions and to Seungmin for answers. And for a while, Minho closes his eyes, enjoying not thinking about anything in particular, but feeling the soft breeze of the wind, with small specs of warmth, it’s the summer anyways. And the sweet mixture of the cold wind with a warm aftertaste makes Minho remember Chan’s breath, caressing the skin of his face, and Minho realizes there’s no such thing of thinking of nothing in particular, because Chan is always there, living inside his head. And at the end, everything goes back to him, just Chan, his curls, the slight redness of his nose, his tender voice and his pale hands. Chan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that’s it, congrats for going through this gigantic chapter!! take a break, drink some water, leave a small comment with your thoughts, favorite parts, anything you would like me to know, because it makes me inspired to listen, even if there’s critics!! 
> 
> this is the link for both playlists both mine and the one from my reader
> 
> mine: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0fBE7RXaJbxFdYIPcK8iFJ?si=kmJImTUHSdOqwynW_64CZg  
> theirs: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6S8SLFmae1U5NOIs41XPd0?si=ATpDiuGvRoOKYv-RvCAuow
> 
> thank you so much!! i hope you like it and i’m sorry about any mistakes 
> 
> with love, rainy!


	7. A hopeless, violence, I named it: Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I’m sorry this took so long, I was brainless for a while and I had some things to figure out. Second of all, I’m sorry for any mistakes on this chapter because (as always) I didn’t review it completely, especially because there’s some horny parts I can’t get myself to read. 
> 
> There’s a fair warning before this one, I know it’s expected because Homewrecker was never a light hearted type of story, but I have to tell you anyways. There’s mentions of drug abuse, physical abuse and a small part that is a mention of attempt suicide. I tried making it less straightforward but it’s still raw and real, take your time if it’s triggering to you, but I think it’s a very important part of this story that I took a while to figure out completely.
> 
> But don’t worry much, since the next 3 or so chapters are less intense than this one is, yall are finally getting the “sometimes fluff” tag.
> 
> I’m so thankful to everyone that commented saying they love this and that they were waiting for the update, it really gave me inspiration to write and I really needed that. And it makes me so happy that you guys like this, because it’s my favorite fic I ever wrote and it’s incredibly personal to me. Thank you, I love you!!
> 
> Enjoy this huge ass chapter of Homewrecker and tell me your thoughts on the comments!!

You’re lost Minho. Seungmin said before leaving, a possessive hand on his wrist. Minho remembers the tingly feeling of being touched, Minho remembers the small shivers down his spine when the words were out of Seungmin’s mouth, floating on the thin air between two familiar beings. And it sounded both as a question and an affirmation, and Minho laughed, because it’s funny. Getting to a point you’re as lost as you’re found. Minho is found because he knows what he loves, what he loves doing, there’s no more dream to fight for, there’s no more small jobs to get the adrenaline of becoming, Lee Minho is something, and Lee Minho is something big. 

Minho is lost because at this moment with the world in his hand, and his public image completely built up, Minho struggles to find his real self, who is Minho without his money and fame, who the fuck is Minho if you strip all of that out. If not, the deep reckless sea filled with messy feelings. 

Minho never leaves the balcony, because something sticks him to his chair, and Minho stares at the sunset, purple, pink and yellow, since the small ball of light sets behind that concrete jungle that surrounds him, and Minho always felt like it matched him. Cold concrete, with greyish tones, far from the colorful sky, cold and lifeless, all the same, just like his days, and he remembers thinking that his life after he got the starlight would be colorful as sunsets, but his life is just like the hard concrete, inhuman, unnatural, that destroys and hides the things men didn't put there. It’s fake and fabricated, easy to be demolished, and there will come a day where all that jungle will be destroyed, and there’s nothing left.

Minho sometimes wished that things ended with him, that when he goes away, when his breath is non-existent, all the concrete jungles would fall, all the stars would hit the ground and the sky would be as pale and lifeless as his lips. And sometimes knowing that his self entitlement is something he build, and that when he goes, nothing will change, it’s groundbreaking, knowing that it doesn’t matter how big Lee Minho is, how much he shines, how much the flashlights follow him around, he will go under the earth to root, like all the other mediocre people he tried not to be. And that’s the worse part, knowing that Lee Minho is nothing more than a human after all, that everything is life and death, and the only life he has isn’t real.

Maybe the way sometimes he disassociates to an extent where he doesn’t know if he’s flesh and bones is a consequence of pretending he isn’t, a projection of how he’s an image and nothing more, and Minho sometimes doesn’t know if he’s something more than that. On those days when everything is out of place and he doesn’t recognize himself in the mirror, Minho feels like he’s liquid smooth, so many years of pretending you’re not human, make you believe that you’re not, that you’re untouchable, incapable of connecting. And that’s the thing, Minho is not untouchable, Chan got to him, under the skin, under the image, and as now, he doesn’t know how to offer, how to cope, how to breathe. Minho envies the light on Chan’s eyes, because he doesn’t have it, he will never have it. Minho is as empty as he’s lost. 

He watches the way the sky gets suddenly more blue, and then it’s a dark blue that seems a little faded like an old t-shirt. He doesn’t like that shade of blue, Minho doesn’t like spending nights alone and Minho doesn’t like himself. And he hates that even at night, when things were supposed to be dark, the bright lights make it as clear as the day, and he sometimes wishes to drown into the darkness, to watch the big black sky and see the stars, to try counting them, one by one but the concrete jungle is filled with corporal stars, with no place for the real ones. And he remembers a time when that didn’t matter, because he thought he shined brighter than any of those, and now that he sulks into a chair, inside the cold and lonely walls around himself, Minho knows, he never shined. Fame doesn’t make you a star, the small constellations inside eyes do, and Chan shines, he shines the right way, because he’s light. 

Pity is the worst feeling one could feel towards someone, and he never pitied himself. Until now, he knows he’s just another lost and flawed human, with no stars inside his eyes, that has everything and yet nothing to give. Minho deserves nothing but pity, isn’t it funny, for someone who thought he was everything and anything. At the end of day, alone, he’s nothing, absolutely nothing, nothing worth fighting for, and every bone of his body aches with that realization, every single bone, and that’s the only thing Minho has felt for a while, pain, agony. Is falling in love worth it? Is popping his bubble worth it? He doesn’t know. He knows Chan is worth it, but he knows he isn’t. 

And every time Minho is alone his head is filled, filled with all the unbearable memories, and he remembers quite vividly when the sky fell, when all the stars crashed down to the ground underneath his feet, there were a lot of times when he saw small stars falling. It started even before Minho knew what shining was, when Minho was nothing more than a small child. The first time he saw his father bring a woman over. And Minho remembers seeing it and finding it weird, he didn’t know who she was, and when he told his mom. She didn’t believe him. And Minho always saw new women come around, one day when he saw his father kiss another woman, the first star fell, and when he told his mother, another one did, because she laughed. It wasn’t funny, and she also knew that, because for the first time Minho faced dead eyes, eyes faded and dark, looking back at him. 

When Minho found Changbin crying in a bathroom, one light appeared, a rising star in the dark sky. When he promised that he would befriend Seungmin to make Changbin stop crying, another one rises into the sky, with a light bright and beautiful. When Minho was old enough to understand the things he saw, all the stars fell again, and the only light he could see was his two best friends. Both of them watched a newborn and fake star start to light the sky, one produced by the lack of it, then, it all started. Lee Minho was reborn. Reckless, fearless, intimidating, and people loved him, for what he wasn’t. And he doesn’t remember when the normal Minho collided and he became who he is today. He knows what helped.

He was 18 years old, the year of freedom, the year Lee Minho could finally express himself. Freely. He got signed up with a model company, that at that time was medium, not as good, not bad, but just enough for Minho to start shining a little bit somewhere. Inside that company, his world collided, like a meteor falling into earth, and he saw it as a chance, that meteor was called Jisung. Blue hair, leather pants, and a light bright and yellow surrounding him, Jisung was his new star. And with his beautiful voice, Jisung was a beautiful mermaid, singing beautiful tones, luring Minho in. He would sing about Minho, their happiness, and their main difficulty. Jisung always had someone else. And now with his age, he stopped blaming the other person for stealing Jisung, because they were once a sailor too, lured by the soft melodies. 

“I love him,” Jisung said, and Minho felt his sky falling, he heard the noises, the bangs of collision, and then came the flames and the thunders, lighting the dead sky, burning his heart, and Minho melted and faded, and he saw himself, broken in the floor, pieces and guts all around his room. 

“But you love me too,” It came with despair, because that was all that was left from his pieces, the agony and despair, the thunders cried desperately on the sky, and the stars fell down and rolled down like his tears, burning his hot cheeks.

“I never did,” The flames froze with the coldness wrapped with words, and Minho got all the answers. You’re just like my father, aren’t you, Jisung? Minho asked himself, not to Jisung. You’re never going to love me, are you? You're not staying, are you? Would you? Yes, Yes, No and No. Minho promised to never love again. 

Minho faded away, and he got stuck in the same spot Jisung left. Minho stayed in front of his fridge, until his body collided as Jisung disappeared from his gaze, and that was the last time he ever saw blue hair, blue like the reckless sea and blue like the day sky, and Minho was dark, like the big black sky.

He tried to pick up all his pieces, and it would just fall all down again. Minho was like an old puzzle, with too many lost pieces, unable to be completed, unable to be put on a picture frame. And that was a life changing situation, a change for the bad, Minho cried, and Minho cried for hours, days, while his whole heart melted out of his eyes, while the sadness created ponds of black water, while his whole body ached and his eyes got red and swallowed. Minho isolated himself, from the world, ashamed of his pain, ashamed of not being able to get the starring role. When the tears dried, leaving his face sticky, Minho felt the emptiness, and he never got away from it, it’s a thing that only grew and grew. 

There must be a saying somewhere that says that it gets worse before it gets better. Minho is not sure if it’s trustworthy. It got worse and then worse it seemed, and all the times he got away from sadness it would hit him again. It was a very cloudy night, when Minho met someone new. Someone with a hair as blue as Jisung’s, someone with tattoos and not so kind words. But it had to be enough he thought. 

He broke two vases on his house while entering, lips locked with a man he didn’t know the name of, kisses were wet with small noises coming from it, it was rushed, in a pace that showed the world and the stars looking at Minho, that he was desperate. Hands runned through his body, and when the kind touch wasn’t enough, Minho asked it to be rough. Maybe because he needed to feel someone, maybe because he wanted to feel pain, he didn’t know. 

They laid in a bed that once held Minho and Jisung, a pillow that had their heads on it while promise kisses and words were wasted, lied, and floated over their heads. Minho didn’t care about foreplay, Minho didn’t care about the pain, he took it gladly, and while that man worked around his body Minho travelled around thoughts and more thoughts. And to kill those, he got more and more into the situation. It had to be enough.

When it was over, and there was blood on his sheets, Minho realized it wasn’t enough. And when that man took a small package out of his pocket, and laid what was inside on his table, Minho thought, would that be enough? Will something ever be enough? If sex and drinks aren’t? So, Minho tried. He still remembers the way the insides of his nose burned and hurted, like that pain was telling him to stop. But pain was welcomed, pain wasn’t enough.

He remembers feeling his heart racing on his ears, loud bangs like the stars colliding to the ground, Minho felt his blood rushing inside his veins, thick and quickly. And Minho felt powerful, as his pupils dilated, as his body felt alive again. The man laughed, and Minho did too. They laughed while they broke everything inside the apartament, while glass crashed on the floor, as Minho stepped on a piece of glass and felt his skin ripping. Minho laughed, and laughed, while his blood kept rushing. Minho’s tongue was numb, his body was numb as much as he felt every organ inside him pulsing. That night, Minho found two lovers, Sungho and cocaine. 

Sungho learned love from big screens, not those Minho did though. Minho learned love in two different ways, the first one was that love would heal, that love was everything, the movies, all those stories of finding yourself while finding someone to love, that exaggerated love the world tries to sell. And Minho learned that love was crashing down, that love was falling, that love burned, that love was worse than opening wounds on your flesh, that love leaves marks and scars, and that love was a very well planned lie. Sungho thought love was physical, and Minho gave it to him, his physical self, his waist, the curve of his back, his burning skin, and Sungho was rough, there were no melting kisses, no soft touches. 

Cocaine was adrenaline, and Minho felt alive while his body got numb. She came quietly, in waves, as your body reacts, and it builds up, quietly, slowly, until your whole body is intoxicated. And Minho would run, break glass, open new wounds in places no one would find, and he laughed, esterically, and he cried like a tall child, hours and hours straight. Minho needed Sungho to be desired, to be touched and Minho needed cocaine, to feel all his touches. Minho needed a small push to feel, to feel anything.

And without both, Minho was mean and empty like a bad dog. He would bark, and scream and hurt, Minho knew people’s weakness, Minho knew everything. And he used it to open wounds in someone other than himself. While his days were filled with emptiness and pain, his nights were filled with touches, numbness, adrenaline and a pain so bearable. All those nights spent woke and all those nights bleeding and laughing and crying. 

Minho learned he rather feel anything and everything at the same time, than to feel only nothing. It’s funny how broken souls are connected to the rush, the euphoria, how broken souls are easily led into situations even though they’re smart enough to know those situations aren’t right. Broken souls creep around places, broken souls haunt and attach to every single being or feeling of warmth. Minho was a lost and broken soul, attaching to things, and maybe he died back then, when the first spark of the white power entered his nose, to leave only a obsessive soul, tormenting and tormented, seeking beauty and the slight feeling of completness. 

The days when Minho didn’t know himself anymore didn’t take a lot to happen. It was funny in the beginning, when he woke up and didn’t know where he was, maybe it was a feeling of recklessness, he was almost proud to wake up without knowing anything. When you’re young it seems as you reach rock bottom, it’s a win, it’s being superior over people that don’t. Minho always had superiority issues, and those were shown. 

Dried blood would be on his thighs, on his feet, and his house was destroyed and rebuilt. Just like everything was, Minho would destroy everything and everyone and one day, wake up and rebuild it, pretending it never happened. And those mornings or afternoons that Minho didn’t know where he was, were more frequent than ever. He would wake up and cry for hours, because he felt like he was inside his childhood room, he would wake up and laugh for hours that his walls were painted with a burning red. 

It felt just like Minho wasn’t in sync with reality, that Minho was a lost being between different realms, different dimensions even. He didn’t feel the need to eat, he felt hungry, but food would make him feel nauseous. He didn’t feel the need to sleep, but felt tired and worn out. Minho didn’t feel the need to change, even though his life was backwards and everyone but his two lovers left him behind. 

He would forget, he would forget what he had to do, where he was heading, who were those people around him, and sometimes he would look at the mirror, and he didn’t recognize that person. He remembers the fear while looking at the mirror and smiling, and feeling like inside that glass laid someone else, smiling back. Minho felt at times like his body was submerged into a pit of water, his ears only hearing small echoes, his body locked in place with something heavy surrounding it, and his vision was blurred. Minho had no clue who he was, he only knew he needed something to feel alive.

Both his lovers were aggressive, and both would come in waves, it was quiet at first, just numbness, the warm embrace. And then it would hit a glass in his feet and a punch on his face, waves and waves, blood on the floor. Broken souls urge for pain, lost souls look for it, how can I know I’m alive without pain? Minho thought that way, at times cocaine would be so violent he didn’t feel the punches. It was a quiet and a strong violence, mending together. 

Minho got fired, after coming to work with a purple eye, and he laughed. Because there wasn’t much he could do, other than laugh. At night after the punches and the numbness then, Minho was alone. Minho started creeping alone and without the numbness he felt it all over again. 

He doesn’t know if destiny exists, he doesn’t know if everyone has a path, he doesn’t know if things happen for the sake of it, or if things happen because of someone writing how it should go. But that night, when he looked at his pretty wrists and felt numb by an adrenaline not caused by any of his lovers, but because his body reacted to physical pain of the small slashs. Changbin got there. And he remembers the scream, the huge scream, that was more painful than anything his body could feel. 

Minho remembers city lights between sleeping and awaking, and Minho remembers white lights over his head, while the world rushed around, while his blood felt calm inside his body. He remembers Changbin crying too, his hands on his wrists. And he remembers waking up. 

Seungmin didn’t cry, Seungmin wasn’t allowed inside that room, because he screamed, and Minho didn’t feel anything while Changbin told him to stop. He didn’t feel anything at all. As empty as always. They had the keys though, after that incident. 

Sungho never appeared again, it was kind of funny the way he disappeared as soon as things weren’t fun anymore. It seemed like Minho was just a small adventure to everyone that crossed his ways. For his parents he was the burden they had to carry, and when Minho rebelled, they disappeared. For Jisung, Minho was an adventure, a dirty secret he kept, hiding in the shadows, a small glimpse of hope followed by the unbearable leaving, he never wanted Minho for who he was, because Minho, was nothing without his approval. For Sungho, Minho was a piece of meat, fresh, beautiful, barely touched, Minho was recklessness and pleasure, Minho was a junkie and a punching bag, exactly like he enjoyed. And when Minho wasn’t either of those, he disappeared without a goodbye. 

Getting clean, Minho remembers, getting clean was a part of his life he rather not have, but then mixed with all those things he already had, it was almost bearable. Every day felt like he was walking on shards of glass that actually felt like something, he would fill the skin ripping the constant pain, his head would be filled with white noise, and then heavy nausea. It was like skydiving without having nothing around your body, just endless falling and falling, never hitting the ground, just the heart racing and the stomach twisting. 

At night, Minho wouldn’t sleep, he would stare at his ceiling, and there were days that it would spin around, forming circles and more circles. Some days he would feel like he’s glued to his bed, unable to move and ghosts would whisper in his ear, that he was a failure. Some days he would count for hours and hours straight, some days he would count it inside his head, others he would whisper, others he would say with his normal voice, and there were days he shouted. 

Minho was no longer a star, Minho didn’t have a job, a place to stay in peace, he didn’t have a spotlight and he wasn’t on the top. He was only falling from a sky full of stars, watching it getting away and more away, until all he saw was clouds, nothing but gas. Is that what he became? A cloud? 

Mistakes were nothing he wasn’t used to, mistakes were his core, Minho and his mistakes, the only relationship that ever worked, the only one that stayed, that lingered around his head. Maybe the most unforgivable of them was when he, weak and lost, found another weak and lost soul to fulfill his hunger. There’s a hole that you fill, Changbin. 

It started simple, one day when Changbin was getting inside his head, too worried to leave Minho alone, he did the move that gave them the check, and there’s not much position a king can move on chess to get away. And Changbin stayed, inside the broken house, inside the place Minho wrecked barehanded. One day when Minho shouted numbers, Changbin woke up, scared he ran towards Minho’s room, and the king moved to the wrong side, the queen was right there, check mate. 

When Changbin sat on the bed, and took one of Minho’s hands into his own, Minho knew two stars remained. Two stars were there, and on his own fucked up way of acting, Minho stole the light from one of them. That night, Minho slept, because Changbin held him tight and forced him to take his nausea pills. The next morning he woke up in the same position, with a small body around his own. The spoons didn’t fit together, Changbin was too small, too good, too pure, to hold by himself both of them. Minho was too big, too corrupted, too intoxicated, but he accepted, to be held, to be held. 

Minho slept every single night, when he was supposed to suffer the consequences and stay awake, screaming and shooting, throwing up what he didn’t even ate, but he got comfortable, inside a grip that was never meant to be. And when Changbin kissed him, it didn’t feel right, but it was love, Minho felt love, coming from those lips, so soft, with honey, but Minho didn’t deserve the sweetness. He accepted it though.

Chaos was long gone, when he decided to tell Changbin it wasn’t right, chaos came back when he did. And Minho stood alone in his apartment when Changbin left, too filled up to stay silent and too embarrassed to scream. Seungmin came around, and gave him one of those gazes, that meant he fucked up, and Minho knew that he deserved that. 

“You did this yourself, fix it alone,” Seungmin said, as the final words, after a beg from help, and Seungmin was right. Minho did what he could do, he started taking his pills, to fill the need for cocaine, started to have constant one night stands to fill the need for warmth, and as quickly as he lost his old job, he got a better one. It seems that cocaine and the lack of it did wonders for his weight. And to be a model that’s one of the only things you have to care about.

Changbin accepted his apologies, even though he shouldn’t. Seungmin came back around when he realized he had nothing else to do. Minho left his old apartment all broken behind, and at the peak of his career, Minho went to Paris, opening the gates to an international career. He got that too, it’s almost unfair how he got everything he wanted after breaking everything he had, it seems like a pretty face can get you anywhere. Minho went back to Paris again, now all alone, he stayed at a big hotel, and when he felt empty, he went down the stairs, sat on a bar with yellow lighting and got drunk on margaritas and whiskey.

“Uh, are you cold?” Chan said, it echoes around Minho’s head, a voice so sweet, a voice that stayed so sweet, Chan never changed, Chan never pretended to be someone else, he wanted to make sure Minho was not feeling cold, and he kept doing that. Chan never changed, because he knows who he is, and Chan is everything. 

Chan is a new rising and genuine star in the sky, a star that shines so much Minho envies it, and he wants to reach to the sky and hold that star in his hands, but isn’t he just corrupting something that shines purely? Does that star belong in Minho’s sky at all? Why does it hurt so much to answer those questions with the truth?

Minho gets up from the chair on the balcony, and he moves around the house, not knowing where he is and where he’s going, his head starts to spin around. At some point he reaches the tiny bar that he rarely used lately, and from there he takes a bottle of wine and a bottle of whiskey. He starts with the wine, no fancy cups, he gulps it down like a bottle of water. He sits down on the kitchen floor. Once again.

Some things never change. The way Minho likes to put himself into certain situations, the way Minho needs his pills or alcohol for a good night of sleep, the way he breaks everything and ends up on his kitchen floor, the way there’s certain addictions that will never leave. 

If Minho gave up on being pretty he wouldn’t know how to be alive. There’s nothing for him in the world other than his beauty, and now, a bottle of wine. He lays down on the kitchen floor, the cold floor underneath him makes him shiver, but he likes it, because alcohol makes him burn and get hotter and hotter. 

He counts every ceramic square on the ceiling, 156 on the first time he does, 161 on the second and 158 on the third. And when the bottle is almost over he counts 67 because he gets lost after a while of counting. He sits down to open the bottle of whiskey, and he analyzes the bottle closely, the same one he drank in Paris, the same one he drank the day he went partying, the same one tattooed on Chan’s thigh. And suddenly he can’t breathe. It’s quick for him to gasp into the air and see it running away, his nose feeling dried out and his throat clogged. His chest gets a little heavier than it actually is, he gets up quickly, and his breathing is now a loud and desperate noise that comes from his throat. 

Minho knocks a plant on his way to the balcony, the noise of the ceramic breaking against the floor is loud but Minho can’t hear much. He squeezes his nose in despair trying to make it feel less dry, but it doesn’t work, he tries to cry because of the agony but nothing other than a noise comes out. His hands start tingling and shaking, and as soon as they do, his whole arm is tingling, his nose is tingling. Panic. He reaches for the balcony after bumping into more furniture, he throws himself into a chair, and closes his eyes forcefully trying to calm his breathing, when he closes them, a single tear leaves his eyes. So he opens them again, leaning against the chair.

Probably not the best choice, but he reaches for the pack of cigarettes and his hands are hurting because of the tingling, he loses a whole minute trying to use the lighter, because there’s not much strength left on his aching hands and muscles. He lights it eventually and he sucks in the smoke, and as he does that over and over again, he manages to get his breathing to almost normal again, his muscles still hurting. 

He needs another pack of cigarettes, he needs his best friends, the ones that might end up killing him someday but are now the only way of breathing properly. I’ll never be lonely if I have 20 long and white cigars to keep me company, Minho thinks. He gets up, his legs failing a little, so he makes his way into the bedroom by walking closely to the wall. He doesn’t know how long he takes to get dressed or recalls where he found those clothes. He doesn’t recall how he got into the streets, and he only realizes he’s not home anymore when the bright lights make his eyes hurt and the bell on the door of the convenience store rings over his head. 

He walks slowly so he feels a little more balance, but at times he has to stop and stay still for a while to not fall over anything. He grabs instant noodles, to sober up, and because they’re the easiest thing to eat. He grabs chocolate and strawberries. He sees a red hair dye on his way to the cashier, and he almost laughs, because it makes him remember the first day he met Chan. So he grabs one, and hair bleach too. 

He grabs a pack of cigarettes and hides his face while paying, trying not to get recognized, in which he doesn’t, which is a good thing. It’s weird to walk back home during the night, as lost as he was before he was something more than just a rich kid. That Minho walking home with chocolates, hair dye, cigarettes and instant noodles is the real Minho, a person he doesn’t know yet, a person he feels like he’s getting even more far from, as days pass by. 

When he gets home, Minho sits on the kitchen floor again, as the water boils for him to eat noodles. He stares at the oven in front of him, while laying against the fridge. The water boiler makes a noise and Minho gets up, makes his instant noodle and sits down again to eat it. What a pathetic life. He eats chocolates and then strawberries, he lights a cigarette after another, throwing the filters inside the cup of noodles.

“How did I end up here?” Minho whispers to himself, before getting up, he feels a little less dizzy. Inside his bathroom he makes the bleach mixture and gets it all on his hair. It fucking hurts but he likes the way it does. His cats find him there and stay all in the bathroom with him while he lays inside the bathtub waiting for the timer on his phone to tell him to take it off.

It does, and he washes his hair, he looks beautiful blonde too, and he might even be blonde someday, now the options are endless. It’s weirdly terapeutic looking at himself and not seeing what he’s used to seeing everyday, it’s almost like a different person, sadly, it isn’t. The red dye is on his hair now and he goes back to the bathtub, lighting a cigarette while he’s inside. He washes his hair and there it is, a new version of Minho that will keep acting the way he always did. He knows by now that it doesn’t matter how much he changes on the outside, he’s still the same. But red hair looks better than his usual brown one. 

Minho stays in the bathtub. And then Chan is back on his mind, would he like the red hair? Would he keep liking Minho if he knew everything he has done? Because Minho knows that Chan is not aware of who he really is. Minho goes to the kitchen once again and sits next to the whiskey bottle, and he hesitates, but opens it up and takes a good and long gulp. He looks at it again, just like the one he drank in Paris, just like the one he drank at a party, the same one on Chan’s leg.

It’s reckless and regretful but Minho does it way too quickly, and it’s too late when it starts ringing, and ringing, until there’s a moment of silence, and then a breath. 

“Minho,” The voice comes sweet and slow, even sounding a little glad, like he waited by his phone for that moment, and it’s almost frightening to think he might. 

“Chan,” Minho says back, his voice a little shaky, he sounds almost like the day he met Chan, drunk and messy, “I have red hair now,” Minho says almost childlike, and he smiles because Chan lets out a small giggle. 

“You called me to announce your hair change?” He says then, and he sounds so relaxed, like he does almost all the time, and Minho wishes he could ever sound like that, like there’s nothing in the world holding him back, holding him away from happiness. 

“No,” Minho says then, and he lays down on the kitchen floor, a small noise coming from the collision of his body against the hard and cold floor against him, “You told me once I would look good with red hair,” 

“You told me you would look pretty with red hair too,” Chan says then, with a playful voice, and it’s almost like there’s no more pain, even though there is, a lot of it, “Do you, then?” Chan asks.

“I always do,” Minho brags, and Chan laughs, soft and warm, a sweet sound that brings Minho comfort, as weird as it might be. 

“Expected,” Chan says then, and Minho smiles. He stays silent after Chan says that he can hear Chan breathing, calmly, as always, there’s something in Chan that is a soft breeze on a hot day, that brushes against your warm cheeks, that brings relief. A question bothers him, a bunch of questions bother him, Chan is a question, Chan is a math problem, and Chan is the only answer.

“Chan,” Minho whispers, and he closes his eyes, trying to picture himself whispering inside Chan’s ear, feeling the warmth of Chan’s body, looking for the unique scent of his skin, but it never comes, he’s alone.

“That would be me,” Chan says, softly, Minho will never understand how things come to Chan so easily, how he had the courage to ask Minho if he was feeling cold, to flirt with him without trying to seduce, how he said that he likes Minho so easily, like it wasn’t a problem, how he sang Minho a song, naturally. Minho wasn’t born or raised to be like Chan, and he doesn’t know if he was born corrupted, if people corrupted him, if he got corrupted by choice, but Minho is far away from a soft tone, a love demonstration, anything, anything that isn’t cold. 

“What’s the meaning of your whiskey tattoo?” Minho says quickly, and then bites his lips. If the answer is what he pictures, he hopes Chan lies, if it isn’t the answer he’s thinking of, he doesn’t know if it will hurt or heal, and it seems like every single step into Bang Chan is between hurting and healing. And maybe Bang Chan is just healing, and pain just lives beside Minho, like a shadow. 

“Minho,” Chan says then, hesitant, like most of the time, and it came to a point that Minho doesn’t know why Chan hesitates. He doesn’t know if it’s embarrassment, because Chan is shy, and not very used to talking about who he is, or if maybe it’s fear, fear of rejection, more and more rejection. _ After you show, all I have is harshness _ . 

“Just… Tell me,” Minho says then, if Chan is embarrassed, he shouldn’t be, and if he’s afraid he might be right or might be wrong, Minho has to hear it first, he has to feel it first, it’s the only way. 

“Fuck,” Chan lets out, and as much as it is extremely sexy when he swears because he’s all sweet and kind, that especially means he’s trapped, “You, Minho, you’re the meaning,” And there it is, Minho wanted to be wrong so badly that even though he was right, it doesn’t feel owned. 

Minho falls from his throne officially. His crown drops on the hard floor, leaving a small noise of metal against the ground. Chan did that for him, he inked Minho on his skin, not Lee Minho, just Minho. He’s not a fan, he’s not his best friend, he’s someone who likes Minho, the small bits of Minho, someone who saw almost all his sides, not all of them but he’s almost there. Minho’s mission now is to know if Chan wants to keep that on his body even if he knows all the bad and the dirty. But what if he does? 

“Chan,” Minho says, and it sounds almost like a choking sound, because tears roll, Minho doesn’t know where they come from. Maybe it’s happiness, someone did something to him, maybe it’s sadness because Chan will regret, maybe it’s guilt for getting inside Chan’s life. It’s a mess, and maybe that’s the real Minho, a mess, simply a mess, “Are you for real?” Minho asks because that’s the easiest question.

“Yes, Minho, I’m telling you the truth,” Chan sounds rather tired, maybe it’s work, maybe it’s the weight of Minho over his shoulders, small body, huge insides, “I know you rather pretend it isn’t real, that you want me to tell you it doesn’t mean anything, but I won’t lie to you,” He says then, sharp as knife. And Minho stays silent, and the tears just roll, for no concrete reason, it just goes down. 

“Yes, I would rather listen to lies,” Minho says, and he sighs and gets a hiccup, and his tears are so heavy he can taste them when he licks his lips, salty and warm tears, “Why?” Minho says then and giggles, “I’m so tired of asking you why,” He says then, because he knows Chan is tired of answering it too. 

“I know,” And he’s soft again, he’s so soft, Chan made him too comfortable with his sweetness, so comfortable that everything that isn’t him is salty just like the tears he’s licking off his lips, “And I also know that it doesn’t matter how much I explain, I know you’ll keep asking me why, because I can’t make you see yourself the way I do,” And that breaks something inside Minho, and he can almost hear it. 

“I just,” And it gets stuck inside him, so Minho cries more, and louder, whining like a little child that lost his mother buying groceries, “I can’t,” He lets out but it doesn’t work either, so he closes his eyes, white sparks shining inside of it, a glimpse of light in the darkness, “I don’t know who I am,” Minho says, in a whisper, and there’s fear there, and as he hears himself a ache starts to grown on his stomach. Shame. 

Minho doesn’t know how to be vulnerable, and how to cope with the fact that everyone is, because Minho always thought he was special, that he wasn’t like everyone, that he was strong. And Minho was strong because if he wasn’t, no one would be strong for him, if Minho didn’t teach himself to protect himself he knows no one would protect him if he needed. Minho closed all the doors, and after so many years, he lost all the keys, he got so far away and buried the doors so deeply that he can’t even find it. Minho was too young and too small to keep everything over his shoulder, so he ended up heavy, carrying his bag of bones, and now, he’s just a lost child, crying hopelessly because he can’t protect himself anymore. 

“No one does,” Chan says then in a tone that is so comforting, and the roles are reversed once again, Chan guiding him, even though he hasn’t gone through all that Minho did. Maybe that’s the problem, Minho saw everything, he saw all the bad, all the dirty, he chose darkness at some point and he needs to find a light he doesn’t have. Things are hard because Minho lacks hope, everything has a deadline to him, because he learned that nothing lasts forever, and Chan is the exact proof of that. But he wants him to stay, “But I like you, even though you don’t know you, I like what I see,”

“Because you didn't see everything,” Minho says then, and bites his lips, he doesn’t know if he’s afraid of telling Chan everything or if it’s the solution. He doesn’t want Chan to leave, but he needs Chan to leave. And Minho is afraid to admit he’s bad, even though he already knows he is. Minho is self aware but he needs, he craves, to be seen as perfect. His life is shallow appearances and he’s nothing without them, he’s just the truth. 

“I want to,” Chan says then, forcefully, his tone is almost like begging, Minho wants to ask why again, but remains silent, “I don’t care, Minho, I don’t care if you did bad things, I don’t really fucking care,” Chan’s tone is louder, more desperate, and again, why, why, why, “I only care about what you are now and who you are when you’re with me,” Chan says then, Minho sighs, with a weird feeling inside him, that almost tingles, but it’s calming.

“I don’t know if you would keep wanting me after I tell you everything, and I don’t know how to tell you everything,” Minho says then, and he sighs again, he’s tired, drunk and broken, “But… I can try, I will try, I have to try,” Minho is mumbling at this point, but something has to get out, he has to let it out, “I’m afraid of trying, I hate trying, I hate that we are temporary, I hate everything,” He feels like crying, but it doesn’t, it doesn’t go out, he’s tired of letting his feelings becoming tears and not words, “But even though I hate this, I don’t want to get out of it, it makes me miserable, it makes me insane, but I’m more insane and miserable without you,” 

“Then stay with me,” Chan says. Staying. A concept Minho doesn’t work with, a concept that haunts him every day, that waits for him in every corner until he’s trapped. It seems so easy yet so hard. 

“It’s not that simple,” Minho says, hesitant. His crown is on the floor still, because the Minho that was decisive and reckless, the Minho that would burn and melt, the Minho that would freeze and close. It is not real when he’s with Chan. He’s careful, and that’s because as much as it’s wrong, weird, unusual, as much as it’s not something Minho to do, he cares. He always did. 

“I know it isn’t, and you told me that a lot,” Chan says then, and he lets out a small sigh after it, Minho squeezes his phone, that he almost forgot he was holding, “But you make things more complicated than they are, honestly, I give 0 fucks about the obstacles,” Minho envies that, he notes mentally, “Because there’s nothing I can do to change them, there’s nothing you could do to change them,” He sighs even more loudly, “But we can enjoy this, because I want it and you want it too, we will be careful, of course, but I don’t want to let you go because of unchangeable obstacles,” 

“I don’t want to let you go either,” Minho whispers and he doesn’t know how but he can feel Chan smiling, he can feel by the way he’s breathing that he is, “I just… I’ve been in this situation before and,” 

“But it’s not me, Minho,” Chan cuts Minho mid sentence, “I know you saw this happen, but it wasn’t me, I’m not him,” And he isn’t. That clears Minho’s mind a little, those simple words. Bang Chan is not Han Jisung, they both sing, and it ends there, Jisung was a hot body waiting, filled with empty words delivered with a confidence of someone without any empathy, because he lied more confidently than he told the truth. Chan is shy and honest, he gets blushed by simple things, he is as lost as Minho is, but he has the light. Bang Chan will never be Han Jisung, because Bang Chan never lied.

“But I’m still myself,” Minho says then, “What if the problem is with me,” And Minho is almost sure it is, because he chose them, he chose the men he couldn’t have, he always did. 

“I don’t think you are, Minho,” Chan says then, the comfort of his voice almost hurts, “I don’t know the full story, and I hope you can tell me, but you changed, everyone does,” 

“Then why do I keep fucking everything up?” Minho asks, more to himself than to Chan which is funny. 

“Because you’re human, Minho, you are allowed to fuck things up, because everyone does,” And Minho remembers himself as small child, dress properly Minho, the guests have to see you well dressed, you could’ve done better Minho you’re being humiliated by getting second place, you can’t do that Minho, you have to be this way Minho. He had to be perfect to be accepted and it never mattered if he was or wasn’t, because he wasn’t accepted anyway.  _ I was made for applause, but It’s never enough.  _

“When can I see you?” Minho asks then, because that’s the only thing he wants to do with his life, he wants to hide inside Chan, to be held safely inside his grip, because it seems like Chan is the only person capable of keeping the mess together. Because maybe Chan is one of the missing pieces, because he’s the answer. Bang Chan is the answer. It’s always him. 

“Tomorrow,” Chan says very quickly, very excitedly and Minho almost wants to laugh and he almost wants to cry, hearing Chan happy makes him so happy it almost ends up in tears, it almost melts out of his eyes, “My place, it’s much better than a hotel,” 

“Okay,” Minho says simply then, and shuts up, just to hear Chan’s breath over the phone, longing to feel it against his skin. It’s the soft blow of the wind at a beach, pure and preserved, close to the ground when you can feel it filling your lungs quickly.

“Get some sleep, you seem tired,” Chan says, and he’s right, Minho had too much alcohol on his system, too much pain on his limbs caused by the pain inside him and crying is almost as tiring as a whole day in the gym. And because Chan is here, and Chan wants to stay, Minho feels like he can sleep. The restless waters of the sea calmed by the bright light of the moon. 

“You too,” Minho says then, and ends the call. That day he moves himself to his room slowly, calm and quiet steps because it seems like if he steps even a little bit more rough all the good feelings inside him will fade. Minho is so scared of the moment happiness leaves again, and so scared it might never come back.

Minho lays in bed and it’s almost instant, the sleep comes, and now it’s not because there’s a hot body against him, not only because he’s tired, because even though days were always tiring Minho would still stay awake. It’s because he’s less heavy, a tiny bit, very tiny bit, but at that moment, it was enough. 

When Minho wakes up the next morning, he doesn’t know where he is, and it lasts for 5 frightening minutes, blinking slowly trying to understand where he is. As always, he’s on his bed, even though some details seem a little off. It’s 8AM, which is surprising because Minho slept almost 10 hours and didn’t wake up more tired than before he slept. There’s a mild headache because he has a slight hangover.

He cleans after himself. All the things he left on the floor, and feeds his cats, petting their heads when they come into the kitchen. He sits on his couch and recruits for a meeting, and it’s not even close to a professional meeting. He just wants his friends. They arrive together way too soon it seems, Seungmin would take longer to get ready, but he still enters the house looking like a million dollars because that’s just Seungmin. 

“Good morning, weird Minho that is awake in the morning,” Seungmin says coming towards the living room and Minho smiles.

“Good morning, Minho that should be awake in the morning,” Changbin says right after, and Minho is still smiling. Changbin is small, hiding behind Seungmin which is the tallest of them all, and they keep standing because Seungmin doesn’t sit down, so Changbin just follows. Seungmin frowns.

“What is the ocasion, and why the fuck are you smiling?” Seungmin asks then, frowning and crossing his arms like a mom who is suspicious you skipped class to smoke cigarettes with your two best friends. Not related to Minho’s life at all, he would say if he was lying. 

“Is it weird to smile because I’m seeing my friends?” Minho says then, his tone is very relaxed and Minho indeed feels relaxed, he’s even wearing sweatpants, which seems normal but not for him. That makes Seungmin frown even more, his eyes almost closed.

“Of course it is,” Seungmin says and sits down, on the couch in front of Minho, Changbin doesn’t do the same because he moves around the living room and starts to look for something on Minho’s improvised bar, Minho glares at him.

“Changbin, it’s 9am,” Minho says as a reminder and Changbin looks over his shoulder, stares at Minho’s face and then looks back to the bar, completely ignoring him while opening a bottle of straight vodka, filling a cup without putting a ice or anything to mix it with. Changbin takes a long sip, and seems unbothered.

“Silly of you, Minho, to think Changbin cares about drinking at 9am,” Seungmin says then, also unbothered which makes Minho all itchy, because that’s not something that should be normal, even though it is for them. 

“But I care,” Minho says harshly, because normally that works with Changbin, he gets weirdly uneasy when Minho scolds him, but that day it doesn’t. Minho frowns.

“I don’t,” Changbin says finally, “What is the ocasion?” He switches topics and Minho knows that tone, he knows that situation, as much as it makes him feel powerless and guilty, there’s some days that neither of them get into Changbin’s mind, he doesn’t use it often, but he learned how to do that from the best teachers.

“Stop thinking I just call you guys if there’s an occasion,” Minho protests, and Seungmin simply rolls his eyes and Changbin just keeps sipping. 

“But there is, isn't it?” Changbin says, from the back, and Minho rolls his eyes. Sadly, they’re too used to the way Minho acts to be slightly surprised or fooled.

“Yes,” Minho says then and Seungmin smirks proudly and Minho just rolls his eyes again.

“Let me guess, it has something to do with your very engaged, very hot affair,” Seungmin says in a tone that is both ironic and not ironic, because he’s guessing right but pretending he meant to guess it. Minho glares at him which makes him smile, because he knows he’s right. 

“Seungmin already told me you like him, by the way, no need to come out of the closet to me,” Changbin says, and he’s definitely not on his normal days, because he sounds bitter. Minho knows how hard and how easy it is for that to happen, and he wants to know if it’s the easy or the hard way. 

“It seems like love is in the air for us, Changbin is butthurt about a boy,” Seungmin says then, in a tone so unbothered yet so aggressive, which is his typical tone, and Changbin just smiles while showing the middle finger. 

“It really is, isn’t?” And there Changbin goes, the tone even more bitter and Minho just rests his case, leaning more into the couch, “You’re head over heels about the intern,” Changbin strikes, and Seungmin just looks back at him, and Minho eats imaginary popcorn. 

“If I was, in which, I am not,” Seungmin says then, collected but Minho knows him enough to know he’s pissed, his hands get more tense and his tone a little higher, a slight change, Seungmin is an actor, he was born with that gift, he’s a professional on hiding. But Minho always finds it, “At least I’m not being a fucking baby about it and drinking at 9am like a loser,” Minho sighs, because when he sees the burning light inside Changbin’s eyes he knows he’s doing one of two things, which is crying or trying to strangle Seungmin to death. Both are not very great. 

“Children, shut the fuck up both of you,” Minho steps in, and Seungmin moves his head back to face Minho, “Changbin stop being a baby and Seungmin stop being a shady bitch, I’m the star today,” It seems so sweet, because it’s just typical of them, and it should be weird that bickering feels like home, but it is.

“Go on, I love hearing about your pity party,” Seungmin says, and he seems fine, because he’s tougher, Changbin still has this face but he doesn’t say anything, even on his worst days he’s still Changbin. 

“Actually, not as pitiful as before,” Minho says and Seungmin frowns, interested, while Changbin just keeps looking at them, distant but participating in some way, with a glass almost empty on hands. 

“Why? Did he dump his wife and contradicted his father to live a sweet romance with an ex addict model?” Seungmin says, as a burn, but he sounds playful, Seungmin always being his bittersweet self. 

“No, we’re not written by Nicholas Sparks,” Minho says then and Changbin lets out a noise that is very close to an almost giggle, which is good, but his attention is shifted because he’s pouring more straight vodka to his cup, “I just decided to stay with him even though he’s very much engaged, because he is still very hot,” It’s a simple way to put that Minho has fallen completely for Chan and is unable to leave him on his own. 

“Hm,” Seungmin says, and then he glares at Minho, doing his “thinking face” and Minho just stares blankly at him, “Isn’t that quite familiar, Minho?” And it is, it’s very familiar, but Chan isn’t Jisung.  _ I’m not him.  _

“It is, but he’s not Jisung,” And Seungmin smiles, it’s a genuine smile, not ironic, not mocking, just a normal smile.

“Finally, for christ’s sake, that was always the point,” Seungmin says and Minho opens his mouth slightly, surprised, “I was tired of telling you that, loser,” Seungmin says, “I mean, thinking, but Changbin told you this,” 

“I did,” Changbin participates but it’s still too dry to sound like him, even though he means it, Changbin gets complicated sometimes, and Minho wants to understand what’s making him so complicated right now, but he wants to corner him alone to discuss it.

“Enjoy your very much engaged and very much hot affair, Minho,” Seungmin says, and that’s his way of saying he’s happy for him, which is weird because they all know it’s wrong, but neither of them care. 

Changbin gets way too drunk to talk after 4pm, and Seungmin decides it’s time for them both to go back home, and complains heavily about having to babysit Changbin until he sleeps, but Minho realizes in the way he looks at Changbin that he’s also worried. He has had a drinking problem since he was 16, Changbin always looked for alcohol, and always found different excuses for why he was drinking, “It makes me more social”, “It makes me less shy to flirt”, “It makes me forget” and all of those were true. Yet, all those issues could be fixed without it, Changbin is addicted as Minho used to be, always finding empty answers by being too numb to even ask the questions. 

Minho gets itchy again, because he’s worried, way too worried. When Seungmin leaves with Changbin chained to him, Minho sends him a text to “take care of Changbin”, and Seungmin doesn’t reply, but Minho sees that he read it. And then Minho is completely alone. It’s weird, it’s not as hopeless because in some hours, he will see Chan, but it’s not calm too, because he’s anxious. 

Minho walks around the house, sometimes in circles, sometimes giving himself small tours around his own apartment. He captures Dori from her peaceful sleep to hold her and kiss her for a while so time would pass quickly. He turns on the tv that he forgets about always. He watches an episode of a drama Seungmin is in, but keeps checking his clock. When it’s 6pm he gets up, and moves into the shower. 

He feels stupid, taking almost 40 minutes on a shower just to go see someone. But he has to make sure every corner of his body is clean and with a sweet smell, that every inch of skin is silky and smooth, that every hair on his head is hydrated and glowing, that at least his body is free of impurities. He takes another 30 minutes dying and smoothing his now red hair, and then he does skin care, and a slight use of makeup to make his skin even and his lips a little more red.

It’s so stupid that he takes 10 minutes to choose a perfume to use, or that he keeps checking himself on the mirror to see if anything changed on those minutes and if he needs to change something. He hasn’t cared so much about how he looked since his first real gig, because after that he was way too confident in his looks, and did his routines effortlessly. But something is different. 

He goes for clothing then, and he doesn’t want to look like he’s fully produced but also doesn’t want to look undressed. He chooses this Gucci green shirt made of soft wool with a bunch of small ribbons knitted on, that shows just a little bit of his stomach, as his signature he chooses a shiny black leather pants that are very low waisted and to top it and because it’s cold he puts on a jeans Gucci jacket with flowers and butterflies embroidered on. He chooses platform boots, just to be taller than Chan. 

He looks at himself in the mirror for 5 minutes, rolling around to see if it’s good or not but he decides it’s enough just to go see Chan, he’s not going to a fashion show, he’s just going to sit at a couch. When it’s 8pm Minho is finally ready, so he leaves the house, and with a mask and a cap, in which he hates, he decides to go walking just to see how close it actually is. And he’s dumbfounded by the fact that it’s 30 minutes of walking to get to Chan. He’s so close, even though it looks like every second he’s not with him, Chan is standing on another planet. 

He hesitates a little before putting the password of Chan’s building but the anxiety of seeing him is so unbearable that when he realizes he’s on Chan’s door step. And he rings the bell, when the noise is heard he holds his hands in a fist, and he’s almost starting to sweat, every second Chan takes to open the door seems like a whole hour and Minho is uneasy, moving his feet, looking around. 

His hands start sweating and he hears footsteps and his heart races rapidly like racing cars, like a body falling from a balcony and it’s so stupid and so incredibly overwhelming. And then it seems like the world stops for a moment, because Chan opens the door, and there he is. 

Curly and soft hair over his forehead again, nose slightly blushed, plump red lips with a perfect design, his eyes slightly more opened probably because Minho changed his hair, the perfect curve of his nose, black shirt tight around his arms and chest, and he’s wearing shorts, and Minho hates shorts but that’s probably the hottest sweatshorts he has ever seen in his life. It’s Chan, it’s him. And when he finally smiles at Minho, white and aligned beautiful teeth, deep dimples and eyes so filled with sweetness, it’s the last straw. 

Minho moves forward and literally jumps on Chan. His arms wrapping around his neck, now that they're the same height, Minho doesn’t use much effort to capture his soft and plump lips with his own. And it’s like a wave of electricity running all over Minho’s body, magnetic, that makes his whole body shiver. His lips are warm and taste like cinnamon, and his scent is all over. Chan pulls Minho closer by wrapping his arms tightly around his waist, Minho melts into the embrace and deepens the kiss because he needs it. Yearning. And he saw Chan two days ago.

It’s like Minho’s body needs Chan to function, is like Chan is the only medicine to calm his racing brain, and the only thing capable of making his heart race for something that isn’t anxiety or agony. Chan is much like cocaine, even though that’s a bad comparison, but it’s exactly like Minho used to feel. An adrenaline that runs through your body, that makes you feel invincible but makes you feel every organ inside your body working, that makes you feel numb and fulfilled. And Chan is dangerous and prohibited. 

Chan picks him up, and Minho shivers because of the strong hands on his thighs. It’s like paradise, his small body against Chan’s strong figure, his unforgiving coldness around a body warm like pure and raging fire, and soft lips being slowly stained by Minho’s lipstick. And he only stops kissing Chan when it becomes way too difficult to breathe and his lips are almost numb. 

He moves a little back, breaking the kiss, and then opens his eyes, looking down at Chan’s face, his lips are a little swollen and he has small stains of lipstick around the corners, almost his whole face has a soft shade of pink and his eyes are glimmering with something sweet mixed with lust. And Minho just stares at him for a while, and inhales the perfume. 

“Red suits you,” Chan says, a little out of breath, a little dreamy, but as always incredibly sweet. And Minho smiles, he takes one of his hands and brushes the corner of Chan’s lip softly.

“You too,” Minho says, and then cleans another stain on the other side, and it’s feels so intimate, to stain Chan’s lips with his own lipstick, almost like he’s marking his territory, and then to clean it all up, showing that he doesn’t need stains to have him. Chan is there. 

Minho moves around so Chan would let him down, even though being attached to him completely was amazing, and Chan gets the message. Minho adjusts his jacket and catches Chan looking at him up and down. And it’s so satisfying to see desire, he knows Chan wants him just because of the way he moves his eyes. Minho smirks at him.

“You’re taller today, which is unfair because I’m barefoot,” Chan says then, and he pouts and Minho almost wants to glare at him because he looks cute and Minho wants to kiss him again and again and again. 

“Sorry short man if I ruined your self esteem,” Minho says and Chan giggles and then bites his lips, and Minho wants to ignore Chan’s lips completely because they’re rather distracting and way too inviting.

“After Lee Minho kissed me like that my self esteem is out of the roof,” Chan says then, playfully and then bites his lip again, and it’s so distracting Minho wants to punch him, and he definitely would but he rolls his eyes at him. 

“Stop being my flatterer, Chan, I know I’m amazing, no need to remind me,” Minho says and that would be extremely honest if it wasn’t directed to Chan, it’s funny that he treats everyone as inferior beings but with Chan it’s just fun and games. 

And Minho walks around like he has been there more than once, and he reached for the couch straightly today, because he already looked around that fancy yet very teenageish apartment. Brutus is laying on the floor, just like the other day looking both cute and extremely scary. Chan follows him and sits right beside him very comfortably. 

“I know it’s your charm and style but you can take off your boots,” Chan says then, adjusting himself on the couch, and he sits like a homossexual, poor boy who never realized it. 

“Is that an excuse to make me smaller than you again? Or is it an excuse for me to be naked?” Minho teases and Chan laughs, that sweet fucking sound, Minho never thought he would find so pleasing to hear a laugh before, which makes him feel like a teenager. 

“Both, it’s a win win situation, I get to be taller and I get to see your majestic feet,” Chan says playfully and Minho just smiles at him, god he’s so dumb, Minho likes him so much it makes him dumb too. 

“First of all ew, second of all fair points,” Minho blinks at him, leaning down to take off his boots, Chan just follows Minho around with his eyes, and it’s kind of sexy. Minho puts his feet over the couch and looks at Chan, and the way he gazes at him fondly, Minho wants to know why Chan looks at him like that, like he’s something better than he actually is, “Are you ready to dislike me?” Minho asks then, laying his head over his arm that is resting on the top of the couch. 

“I would like you to try,” Chan says with a threatening tone and Minho smirks, he likes this confident side of Chan, the way he doesn’t blush or hesitates. It suits him more than his shy self, and maybe someday that will be everything Chan is, confident.

“Should I start with the drug addiction or something more mild from before that?” Minho says then, and he stares at Chan, his reaction is very contained, he raises his eyebrows and then goes back to his normal gaze.

“Honestly, it doesn’t surprise me, that you were involved with drugs at some point… Showbusiness,” Chan says, and he’s actually pretty right with his assumptions, there’s not a single famous person that Minho knows that doesn’t have at least one addiction, or had one. 

“Well, you assumed right, especially on modeling, we all like to party,” Minho says and it’s such a simple talk, even though the roots of the subject should be heavy, it’s not, because it’s just Chan.

“Which one?” Chan asks and Minho raises an eyebrow, “Which drug?” He asks again and Minho nods.

“Well, I tried a bunch but my problem was cocaine,” Minho says, it’s kind of funny that Chan doesn’t even care, he doesn’t look shocked or disgusted, and Minho doesn’t feel vulnerable telling him that.

“My dad was very into it too, I mean most of the rich people I interacted with were very into it,” Chan says simply, “For how long?” Chan says, laying his head over his arm too, and Minho looks at his small and shiny eyes, digging deep looking for any discomfort and failing. 

“One year,” Minho says then, and blinks slowly to Chan, a small curl falls on his eye and Minho without even thinking about it brushes it off of his forehead, putting it behind Chan’s ear, and Chan smiles, he’s beautiful, “It seems like not a long time, but I didn’t use it lightly… It was every single day with a big amount,” 

“You’re clean now?” Chan asks then, and it’s just natural the way he moves his hand out of his own thigh and places it on Minho’s, a light and warm weight that makes Minho almost blush, and it’s weird, a simple touch, so kind, so natural and so effortless, it catches Minho on a surprise. But he likes it. 

“Yes, well, I was kind of forced into getting clean…” And memories from that day come very quietly, it’s a blur, how things really went down, why he did what he did, he remembers the pain, the aching inside and the agony, he remembers he didn’t do it to die but to clean his bloodstream, because it seemed like his blood was filled with dirt. He doesn’t remember getting in the hospital, he doesn’t remember what Changbin told him, only the horror on his eyes. And he was so high that the cuts didn’t even hurt, they healed. 

“How?” Chan asks then, and gives Minho’s thigh a little squeeze, and Minho never told that to anyone and he never thought he would, it’s just something not worth sharing, it’s something that needs a deep connection and trust that Minho never gave anyone else, but the slight touch on his thigh, the fondness inside his eyes, it makes sure he’s safe. 

“It’s complicated,” Minho says then, and he doesn’t know how to start, how to explain, how to break it to the bee, not only because he doesn’t remember it properly but because he never had to find words to describe it. So Minho moves his head up and makes his arms free. He takes his jacket off slowly, and Chan just watches him carefully. After the jacket is off, Minho moves both of his arms forward, close to Chan’s face. And finally there’s a reaction, it’s not disgust, it’s not disappointment, it’s sadness. And Minho feels bad, he doesn’t want pity. 

“Can I?” Chan asks, looking at Minho’s wrists and then at his face, and Minho simply nods. Chan grabs his wrists with a subtle grip, sweet and kind, and with his thumb he brushes over the scars, it’s such a careful touch, almost like Chan is afraid to hurt him. Minho looks down at Chan’s hands while they hold him, and then back at his face, he looks sad and his eyes glimmer, in a way Minho never saw, “Why?” Chan whispers, and that is a word Minho rather say then answer.

“I don’t know,” Minho says then, not only because it’s safe but because it’s true, “Maybe it was everything, maybe it was nothing, it’s vague,” Chan nods, and then he does something so overwhelmingly sweet that Minho could cry. Chan just moves his head down, and on top of both of Minho’s wrists he places a kiss, soft and warm lips, a kiss over Minho’s rock bottom. And for a second, Minho could look at Chan and tell him, “I love you”, but he knows he’s not there yet. 

“It might sound corny, because it is,” Chan says softly, releasing Minho’s wrists from his soft grip, “But I always thought that scars make people more beautiful, as a reminder that the bad moments are far gone,” It would sound corny, if Minho didn’t know Chan was being honest, if he didn’t see inside his glimmering eyes that he said that with all his heart. Chan is someone peculiar, because that’s the light Minho never saw, he never looked at his mistakes that way, or ever thought those things he hides under bracelets were beautiful.

“I think you’re right,” And it’s honest too, because Chan sees it that way, and he’s not seeing it wrong. Minho walks around with grey colored glasses, seeing the world as grey and lonely as it seems to be, he looks at his scars as a constant reminder that he’s weak, and that he lost. But Chan sees the world at its fullest, he sees all the colors Minho is lacking. 

“Have you done this after this one?” Chan asks then, and he lays his head over his arm again another curl, another brush from Minho, curls soft, the skin of his forehead silky. Chan feels like an angel, with no rough edges, like every corner of his body is made of the most expansive and soft material. 

“No, I used to do it every time I was high,” Minho says then, “I think it was because I knew I couldn’t feel the pain, and because I wanted it,” He remembers the way hurting himself as an addiction too, how he would step on glass because he wanted to, how he would allow himself to get beaten and thrown, it was just part of the process. Seeing pain as a relief and a friend, almost a hobby, “And Changbin wouldn’t allow it to happen again,” 

“Your best friend right? The small one,” Chan says and Minho laughs, he remembers Chan searching him up on the internet, it’s so funny to imagine him looking at pictures of Minho, and Minho with his friends, reading interviews and headlines. When he’s with Chan he forgets he has a huge reputation to follow, that he’s a big star. And maybe Minho is himself, even though he can’t differentiate them, he’s himself with Chan, whoever that person is.

“Yes, the small one,” Minho says and Chan giggles, Minho remembers how small he felt holding Minho on his sleep, “Well, it’s time for you to hate me,” Minho says and he laughs dryly, he’s afraid, because it’s going to sound bad, it sounds terrible, “I did something bad to him, I used him without even thinking about his feelings,” 

“You’re not good with feelings,” Chan says then, and his tone doesn’t carry anything bad, it’s more like a debate actually, like he’s presenting his evidence and Minho is telling him the crime. 

“I’m definitely not good with them, but I was terrible because I didn’t consider his feelings at all, I just wanted someone so I wouldn’t be alone,” Minho says, and it sounds more quickly than he planed, because he’s scared and Minho wonders if Chan can see fear on his eyes, “I was selfish, and he loved me,” 

“I know you were,” Chan says then and he moves his mouth around slowly and does the same with his eyes, probably thinking about it, “How does he feel about it? Because you’re still friends with him,” Chan asks.

“He forgave me, it took a while, we were apart for months because just seeing me made him sad,” Minho says and moves his gaze out of Chan’s face and faces his hands, playing with his fingers, he feels like a monster, and even though he knows he is, the guilt is unbearable.

“Fair,” Chan says after a while, “I don’t think that would make me hate you, even I saw the full picture, you were both sensible, and as much was you were a son of a bitch, he forgave you,” Chan sounds exactly like Changbin does when the subject appears, and maybe it’s because they have similar thinking processes.

“It doesn’t make it less terrible though,” Minho says and Chan makes a face, he sees something that rarely happens, Chan’s face screams disagreement.

“Of course it doesn’t, but it haunts you still even though he doesn’t care about anymore… You came to me thinking I would hate you because a young adult accidentally played with someone’s feelings,” Minho hates the way Chan sounds like a therapist but he loves the way he’s positive, once again Chan sees things differently.

“But I’m doing it with you too,” Minho says, and Chan gets confused, frowning and Minho just stares at him, “You have feelings for me but you know I can’t stay,” 

“The difference is pretty simple, Minho,” Chan says then, and is it? Things don’t sound simple to Minho at all, maybe without his knowledge and fears it would, “I asked you to stay, you’re not playing with my feelings because I’m willing to be in this relation,” It is simple just saying isn’t it? Seungmin and Changbin also think it’s simple, it’s just enjoying, but Minho doesn’t like doing things that won’t last, it’s overwhelming. 

“Chan, what do you see in me?” Minho asks honestly because Chan is the only one that can tell him yes or no, and sometimes Minho’s brain screams,  _ tell me no, somebody please tell me no, because i’ll never say no to myself.  _

“You’re beautiful, and I think that you already know, but the first time I saw you, I was dumbfounded,” Chan says and his eyes shine, and Minho hates it,  _ You the darkest of lovers, make my eyes shine with the purest of lights, “ _ I only realized you were shaking because I kept looking at you,” 

“I didn’t realize it,” Minho says then, it’s weird, on that day sitting on that chair, no one caught his attention, Minho never gave himself up, not for a split of a second, and he didn’t even know that sitting right beside him was someone that would change his life, change his views, get inside his brain. 

“You were drunk,” Chan says and Minho laughs, he was, but what kept him from looking around was that he thought he was better than everyone else there, “You sounded so confident, denying the coat, talking about yourself, and that made me instantly interested in you, you are peculiar,” Just like you are to me, Minho thinks, “And you made me more confident, you seemed like you didn’t give a fuck about the people around you, but you wasted your time making me feel confident about myself,” 

Minho remembers that night, the way he scolded Chan for talking so shyly about what he loved, and how weird that was in his perspective. The way Chan gave away his passions to pursue something he didn’t like, and that seemed like complete insanity. But Chan is not selfish, he rather stays hidden than to express what he holds inside, because Chan cares, he cares about everyone else. His selflessness is both his biggest sin and his biggest quality, “You’re peculiar too,” Minho says then, and Chan smiles.

“You walked into my hotel room like it was yours, you asked me about all the things I was afraid of talking about, and every time I saw you, I acted like myself,” Chan says, and Minho bites his lip, unable of processing the way Chan feels, “You allowed me to accept everything about me, and scolded me every time I tried to run away from it,” He takes a long breath and Minho’s lips start hurting from the way he’s biting it, “You changed me for good, and as much as you are lost and confused, you’re nice to me,” 

“I’m physically incapable of ever being mean to you,” Minho admits, and he never cared so much about hurting someone’s feelings before, “I probably was at some points, because I was trying to push you away,”

“But you know that wouldn’t work because I realize that you do that, right?” Chan says then and Minho frowns surprised, is he more transparent than he thinks he is? Or is it just with Chan? Is he special or Minho was mistaken? Maybe it’s both because Chan is special. 

“You do?” Minho asks and Chan giggles, even though it’s not the moment to get soft, hearing Chan giggle is always magical. 

“Well, I do because you fail every single time,” Chan says and Minho rolls his eyes because he’s right, he could’ve ghosted Chan the time he asked to see him again, he could’ve given the wrong number, but he didn’t, “You push me away and then you come back, and it made me confused for a while…” _ It made me confused too  _ “But I knew you didn’t want to give up, because you kept trying,” 

“You’re addictive, Bang Chan,” Minho says, and he just switched from c to c, cocaine, Changbin and Chan, all the drugs he tasted, “And you made me afraid, I wasn’t made to feel this way… My brain just doesn’t accept it,” 

“Because of him?” Chan asks, and Minho gets conflicted, there’s way to many reasons, Minho was bottled up with so many experiences before Chan ever appeared that when he did it was too late to be fixed, too late to be reckless and careless, and Chan was too good to not be considered.

“Jisung is a important player, I suppose,” And he definitely is, Jisung started something he didn’t finish, and it let Minho lost, figuring out how to finish it himself, and he found lookalikes and heart fillers, and neither of them worked, “I think I’ll never get over him,” Minho admits and Chan frowns, “I don’t love him anymore, not at all, it’s just that the wounds don’t heal,” And Minho giggles, because that’s his only reaction.

“I have heard about the strange madness long growing in your soul,” Chan says, and Minho recognizes it instantly and something inside his stomach makes it colder, “But you’re fortunate in your ignorance, in your isolation,” Minho touches Chan’s thigh, like Chan did with him before, “You who have suffered, find love where it hides” And Minho leans forward.

Minho touches Chan’s lips with his again, feeling the softness, the sweetness. The kiss is wet and Minho leans back just a few centimeters, just to look inside Chan’s eyes, and there it is, the lights, like the night skies filled with stars, like nebulas shining hidden somewhere in the universe. And Chan makes the second move, and their lips lock, it’s slowly and sweet, Minho moves his hands up and holds Chan’s face with it, the softness of his skin and hair making his palms tingle. That kiss is filled with passion, but a different kind of passion, it’s not rapid and desperate like it’s the last kiss they’ll ever share, it’s gentle, like they have all the time in the world. It’s like coming home. 

After a few minutes mending with Chan, caressing his cheek slightly, and kissing him so tenderly, Minho breaks the kiss, their foreheads still touching, Chan’s breath against his skin, a soft breeze, comfort, “Give,” Minho kisses Chan’s mouth, “Share,” He kisses Chan’s nose, “Lose,” He kisses Chan’s left cheek.

“Lest we all die unbloomed,” Chan’s whispers, and he smiles and Minho smiles back, feeling like every angst inside his body has left, happiness came to visit him, and it’s staying for the night, for a long while, for him to remember, forever. 

“Chan, you told me something once,” Minho whispers close to Chan’s face, and his heart starts to race again, just like it did when he was waiting for him to open the door, “I shouldn’t have listened to it, because you thought I was sleeping,” Chan knows what’s to come it seems, because he bites his bottom lip, and Minho kisses it so he stops, “You told me you liked me,” Minho whispers even lower, “I like you too, Bang Chan,” Chan smiles, sweetly, tenderly.

“I waited a lot for you to say that, I must admit,” Chan says then, and Minho holds back a smile, be feels like a teen, telling their school crush that he likes him, and maybe it is exactly like that, Minho has grown into a tall child, “I almost thought you never would,” Minho giggles softly.

“I thought I wouldn’t too,” Minho says then, “Don’t get attached to someone you could lose,” And that used to be the biggest truth of the world for him, Chan is something he will lose eventually, “But if I already know the end, there’s nothing to lose,” 

“I never cared for how it ends,” Chan whispers, “I’m tired of stressing over the future, because I get stuck in the present,” Chan is comforting, he’s always so comforting. Being around Chan is like being constantly reminded that the world is not as bad as it sounds, “The only thing I know about the future is that I’m never forgetting about you,” Minho does something he doesn’t do often, something he avoids, since he thinks it’s uncomfortable. He wraps his arms around Chan and hugs him, Chan quickly hugs him back. Warmth and the scent of heaven.

“I won’t forget you too,” Minho says then, with his face buried on Chan’s shoulder, and he smiles and hopes Chan doesn’t feel it, but hopes he does, because Chan is one of the only persons in the world capable of making him smile because he’s feeling good.

Minho moves his head a little to the side, to find the warm skin of Chan’s neck, and there it is, the place that carries the biggest amount of Chan’s scent, and Minho inhales it with passion. He remembers those times where he was too afraid to show that he was sniffing him, those times he got uncomfortable because Chan saw him smelling the coats he would bring. There’s something that almost feels like freedom, allowing himself to smell Chan’s perfume, to cling into his warm and strong body, to kiss his nose softly. 

He always hated romance, he avoided every romantic feeling he ever had, he pulled away from everyone that wanted to kiss him slowly and sweetly, Minho thought for a long time that he liked it rough and heartless, only hot bodies waiting, nothing more. And he still doesn’t feel like he likes it, that he craves for romance or love, but when he’s with Chan, roughness is not enough. The violence, the lust, all of those aren’t enough. Minho avoids romantic feelings, but Chan made him seek for it. And he denied, for way too long, which drove him mad.

So he kisses Chan’s neck, a wet kiss placed over his warm skin, and he does it again and again.  _ I know I kissed you before, but I didn’t do it right, can I try again and again and again.  _ When Minho licks his lips, he can taste Chan’s perfume, which makes him even more needy it seems, to smell and taste him. So he licks it, and when he does, Chan’s grip around him gets tighter, Minho smiles and licks it again, Chan lets out a suppressed noise, and Minho loves it, he wants him to be louder and louder. 

Minho’s mouth travels around the neck, looking for the spot that will make Chan let out those noises he’s holding back, and when he gets close to Chan’s ear, he shivers. Spot found. Minho licks behind his ear and then his earlobe, and Chan lets out a whine. Chan’s voice is always sweet, like honey, he’s always soft spoken, but the noises he lets out, they’re the sweetest. He gets high pitched, a silvery and breathy sound, Minho really likes singers. 

When Minho sucks his lobe there’s another sound, a little bit louder, and Chan takes a long breath, “Minho,” He says with a strangulated tone, his voice lower but somehow still high pitched.

“Hmh,” Minho lets out, while kissing the lobe and the skin behind Chan’s ear, and he’s almost shaking. Minho hates that he loves the way Chan is needy and easy to arouse. Minho sometimes wishes he felt things as intensely as Chan seems to feel, but only experiencing the way his body reacts is enough to make Minho so incredibly horny. He used to be a pillow princess, but Chan came around, messing up all his senses.

“Let’s go to my room,” He whispers with a breathy tone, his voice lower. That sounds incredibly sweet, and Minho remembers himself that Chan doesn’t do those stuff, or has done, other than with Minho. So Minho just nods, he wants Chan to be comfortable, to enjoy himself, couches are very uncomfortable. 

Minho misses that hug the moment it’s over, but he knows that touching Chan has just started, and that he will have better and more pleasing chances to do so. Chan gets up and Minho gets up right after, and Chan offers Minho his hand, and it’s so effortless and natural, and Minho feels all types of butterflies inside when he decides to accept it. It’s such an innocent type of touch, something so intimate, that Minho never thought he would willingly do again. 

Chan’s room is huge, as expected, his bed just a little messy but because it’s also huge it almost doesn’t seem like it is. There’s not much time to look around, because as soon as Chan lets go of Minho’s hand, he’s already leaning towards Minho’s lips. The kiss is more rushed than before, wet noises echoing around the big space, and when Chan leans even further, whole bodies colliding with each other, there’s a pleasing surprise. Sweatshorts are even hotter when Chan’s fully hard. Minho doesn’t care about style when it comes to Chan, he looks much better without clothing. 

They walk towards the bed with their lips intertwined, and when they get there, Minho pushes Chan’s body down who falls into the bed, and he gets a perfect glance of how Chan is beautiful, his eyes as always shining but with lust, his jawline is tense and attention grabbing, he’s all blushed and his lips are redder than before, there’s soft lipstick stains on his neck, his hair is all messy. He looks so inviting, and Minho gets on the bed too, one knee on which side, and when he gets down a little he feels the length of Chan’s cock under the leather of his pants. 

He sits on Chan’s lap, and Chan bites his lips. Since it’s Minho’s job to do that, he leans down to kiss Chan again, and Chan’s hands move to the sides of Minho’s hip, squeezing it tightly, almost possessive. Minho bites Chan’s lower lip and Chan’s jaw gets even more tense, and Minho wishes he could mark Chan’s lips with his teeth, bite and suck his neck, but because he doesn’t, he only bites it softly. 

Minho uses one of his hands to keep his balance while the other one runs through Chan’s body, he starts with the neck and then the shoulder, slowly he caresses Chan’s chest and then goes down to his toned stomach, Minho never fails to be surprised about the way Chan’s body is defined and hard but his skin is soft. When he gets to the hem of Chan’s shirt, he sneaks his hand under it, and his cold hand runs over every line on his abdomen, a little up he gets into Chan’s chest, he feels a little texture from the tattoos there.

He brushes over Chan’s nipple and he shivers, and Minho feels on his palms the small bumps of the shiver. Their kiss gets more slow so Minho can touch Chan lightly and enjoy every sensation. Touching Chan is a whole journey, the silky skin, the reactions to every touch, the definition of his features, the warmth of his burning skin, the texture of his tattoos, he’s beyond perfect.

Minho bites Chan’s bottom lip again, and sucks it before letting go of it completely, unlocking their lips. Now he can see everything again, but he wants more, he holds the two sides of the hem of Chan’s shirt and Chan leans forward so Minho can take his shirt off, he’s so obedient. When Chan is shirtless, Minho realizes that all of the memories he had of Chan’s body aren’t even close to the real picture, the memories don’t give enough credit to the coloring of the tattoos, the toned abdomen, the way his skin is milky and without a single bruise. Nothing is like seeing it up close.

And now staring directly at Chan’s face, that is slightly bent to the side making curls cover his eyes, Minho craves to touch him. He starts on the shoulders, the tattoos that lay there have the same milky texture of Chan’s body. Same thing on the corners of his chest, with his whole palm he brushes over Chan’s nipples again and Chan forcefully closes his eyes, his nose getting a little more brushed than before. The middle of his chest where the scorpion and the “kill your darlings” are inked on, as always, textured. 

“You’re beautiful,” Minho whispers, and something changes about the way Chan reacts to that, his eyes that were once closed, open again, and he stares at Minho, his eyes are glimmering and his cheeks get redder than they ever were, his eyes get bigger like he’s shocked by that revelation and then he giggles, “What?” Minho asks, smiling. 

“I’m beautiful?” Chan asks then, his voice is tender and soft spoken, his smile doesn’t leave his face, and he keeps trying to contain it by biting the corner of his lip, and he keeps closing his eyes for a while, probably trying to hide himself in some way.

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” Minho says then and Chan tenses up, and then relaxes again, but his cheeks still look like he’s burning inside, and he keeps nervously biting his lip.

“I’m not acting… I never heard that,” Chan says shyly and Minho just knows he wants to cover his face, it’s weird his hands are twitching and his face almost seems like he’s up to something, it’s completely adorable. 

“Really?” Minho says then softly and runs his hand through Chan’s chest, and Chan smiles again, “You should hear it more often because you are,” And Chan looks like a child, all nervous, Minho leans down and kisses Chan’s forehead.

“Thank you…” Chan says shyly and Minho smiles, he feels a huge urge just to hug him so tightly his bones will break, because be never saw someone so cute and modest, someone who blushes when you tell them they’re beautiful, “Minho,” Chan says then after a while, with a beathy and hesitant tone and Minho simply nods, “I want to touch you too,” And he requests it so tenderly, so hesitant, like he’s doing something against the law and Minho giggles.

“You have to earn that,” Minho says then in a challenging tone, the fun begins, because Chan nods rapidly. 

“How?” Chan asks curiously and Minho laughs in a threatening way, he looks at Chan up and down, his sensible body, the lines, everything so beautiful.

“It’s not hard, I just want you to be more louder, more confident, you don’t have to hold back anything,” Minho says and Chan’s face gets curled in confusion it seems, and he rolls his eyes to think for a while and Minho doesn’t care how long it takes, it’s a beautiful view, heavenly even.

“But I sound embarrassing… I’m noisy,” Chan says hesitantly, and he bites his lips nervously again and god Minho hates when he does that, because Chan has the prettiest lips he has ever seen.

“I know and I love it, I want to hear you,” Minho says more like an order than a request and Chan bites his lip considering it and then, he nods rapidly again, Minho smiles largely, “Good boy,” He says before, leaning over and capturing Chan’s lips again. 

Minho has the lead, he’s the dominant one, so he commands the pace of the kiss, precise and slow, tasting Chan’s mouth like you taste fine wine, bit by bit, calmly and well paced. And Chan just melts into it, following the pace so perfectly it’s annoying, so obedient and willingly. Minho feels Chan’s desire from the way he accepts everything, the way he enjoys everything like it should be, it’s painted in every mannerism that he wants Minho as much as he wants Chan.

With a bite he leaves Chan’s mouth again, and kisses his cheek and then his chin, moving down to his chin, and then his neck, licking, gently sucking, leaving sweet kisses. He sucks the ear lobe and Chan lets out a small moan, it doesn’t sound like he tried to contain it, and Minho smiles against Chan’s skin. He licks Chang’s chest and his tattoos, he kisses almost every line he can, and when he gets to Chan’s nipples he reacts better. Because when Minho sucks his nipple, Chan shivers and moans, and it’s so incredibly hot, the melodic noise. When he sucks one and caresses the other he wines sweetly, it’s marvelous, he wants to lick and suck Chan for hours and hours until he cries out of pleasure. 

And Chan goes almost insane when Minho rolls his hips around and brushes his ass over Chan’s cock, he whines again, and Minho has the exact plan to make Chan give him the best noises. Minho leans back up, and leaves Chan’s lap, getting up by the bed. Chan stares at him curiously, not knowing what he’s up to. Minho smirks at Chan, before rapidly taking off Chan’s sweatshorts and his Balenciaga underwear goes with it, Chan’s cock jumping up, fully hard, completely red, especially the head. Minho smirks again. 

And then Minho reaches the hem of his own shirt, and gracefully takes it off and Chan’s eyes get bigger and Minho can see it perfectly, the way Chan looks excited and anxious, and Minho realizes that’s something new to him. And he gets more surprised when Minho unbuttons his leather pants, and he does it slowly, without any type of hush, and when he takes it off Chan seems thrilled by the fact that Minho is not wearing anything underneath it. 

“Wow,” Chan lets out and Minho smiles, it’s no surprise that he has a good body, and he always loved the way he looked, sometimes he’s obsessed by the way he looks in the mirror, but Chan’s surprised eyes, the way he looks up and down and licks his lips. The way that’s the first male body he’s getting a good glance at, it’s amazing, it’s new and incredible. God Chan is so hot even when he looks innocent, surprised.

“Like what you see?” Minho asks then, and it’s not braggy, he just wants to listen to what Chan thinks, what he feels, Minho wants to feel things like Chan must be feeling, the small anxiety, the feeling of something new, the sweet pleasure. 

“Yes… Your tights…” Chan says breathy, and he’s so embarrassed and so turned on because his cock throbs over the start of his tummy, “You’re even more beautiful like that…'' God the way Chan looks at him, the way he sounds, Minho misses that feeling of something new.

Minho gets on the bed on his knees, and Chan stares at him curiously, and Minho smirks, before fully sitting over Chan’s cock, and the soft and burning skin against Minho’s ass is incredible. Chan looks even more surprised now, Minho only smirks again. 

“Do you have lube?” Minho asks like it’s nothing and Chan’s eyes grow bigger and bigger, Minho laughs at the way he looks incredibly shocked, “Calm down, it’s not what you think it is,” And Minho doesn’t know if Chan is relieved or disappointed. 

Minho moves back to his old position while Chan reaches from a small drawer by the bedside and takes out of there the lube Minho asked for, and it makes Minho so fucking curious to know how he uses it. As much as Minho doesn’t want to be Chan’s first and he’s definitely going to avoid ever being that, he’s curious to know what Chan would like more, to see how he would feel and react. Chan’s inexperience is a box of surprises, and Minho hates how much he wants to explore every single one of those surprises. 

With the lube in hand, Minho fills his hand with a good amount and is surprised to know Chan likes strawberry scented lubes, a box full of surprises. He rubs the lube on Chan’s length and Chan whines again, a little louder, and lube mixes with the precum from the tip on Minho’s hand while he strokes it lightly and Chan shivers under him when he brushes the tip with his thumb. Chan sighs quietly when Minho lets go of it, and then sighs loudly when Minho sits on his lap again. 

Minho smiles at him playfully before adjusting himself to make Chan fit right in between his ass checks, and now Minho shivers too, because it’s hot and wet, and he’s been sexually deprived since he met Chan, unable to want to touch anyone that isn’t him. Minho realizes that Chan doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he reaches for Chan’s wrists and guides him to hold his waist. Chan squeezes it as soon as he does, and his hands are strong and cold. 

Minho moves his hips again, and Chan’s cock just slides perfectly on his ass, Minho is known for his amazing riding skills, and as much as this doesn’t involve penetration, Minho still knows his ways on how to move. He starts slowly, and it’s almost painful both for him and for Chan, especially for Chan that breathes deeply every time Minho moves his hips, and he squeezes Minho’s waist too. His eyes then lock on Chan’s face, because he wants to see it, there’s something powerful about being on top, on control, just enjoying the view of what you’re causing in someone else. And Chan gives the most exciting reactions.

When Minho decides to make the pace quicker, Chan’s grip on his waist loses strength because he gets a little more desperate. Minho has strong legs, he danced for years, and walked on runways for hours with precision. He doesn’t get tired easily, so Minho can go fast. And he does, moving so quickly and precisely Chan doesn’t even have a single reaction. His mouth is open and sometimes he lets out whines, sometimes it’s a small moan, sometimes is heavy breathing, but his eyebrows are always glued together, his face curled. When Minho gets to the quickest he can get and Chan’s tip keeps hitting on the right spot, Minho is thrilled to keep going and going. 

It lasts for a while, just Minho moving without even looking bothered by it and Chan shaking and letting out whines. And Minho knows he's close when his grip on Minho’s waist gets so tight it hurts, and he gets a little more up, moving his hips too, and Minho just stares at him, biting his lip. Then it comes, because Chan arches his back, and his mouth opens completely, and he lets out a sequence of very sweet and wrecked moans. His mouth opens and closes twice and then he reaches climax, all over Minho’s ass and Minho smiles. 

His body drops against the bed again and he’s incredibly out of breath, with his eyes closed and mouth still opened, his face is like a burning red, there’s teeth marks on his bottom lip and the blushing moved all the way from his face to his neck and chest. He looks beautiful and wrecked, which is so amazing to Minho, to see that a simple humping session gets him looking like a beautiful mess, and Minho can’t wait to see how he would look like after actual sex. 

Chan opens his eyes and Minho is still there, over Chan’s body, smiling at him, looking like he didn’t even do anything. Chan looks at him in a way that is incredibly flattering because it seems like he’s worshiping him, his face is surprised in a different way, he’s impressed. Minho leans down, ignoring how sticky he feels, and leaves a soft kiss on Chan’s plump lips, and after he leaves Chan’s lips, Chan smiles back at him. 

Minho moves back again and when he’s about to get out of Chan’s lap and get up Chan holds his arm, making him stop, “What?” Minho asks then, his voice sounds more tender than his natural tone, because even though he wasn’t the one cumming all over he feels relaxed, and maybe a little bit sore on his legs. 

“Am I allowed to touch you now?” Chan asks in a whisper, and it’s almost too quiet, and Minho almost misses such a question. Minho raises one of his eyebrows at him.

“What do you want to do?” Minho asks then, and Chan bites his lip, clearly embarrassed and Minho knows how difficult it is for Chan to say sexual things out loud, and that’s exactly why Minho wants him to say it out loud. 

“What you did to me on the other day,” Chan says then, and he bends his head to the side, it seems like he’s about to giggle or about to cry, but even though Minho knows what Chan means by that is more fun to make him more embarrassed.

“What did I do?” Minho asks then, with a teasing grin on his face and Chan ends up giggling and not crying, a giggle that shows all the embarrassment he has, but he’s taking it kind of well. 

“I want to… Go down on you?” Chan says more in a question still avoiding the words for it, and Minho laughs, because Chan is adorable, the most adorable being he ever saw.

“Ok that’s enough for me I’m not going to bother you more,” Minho says and Chan cheers quietly, which is also adorable, “You don’t have to, I know it must be something new for you,” And that’s the first time Minho half denies a blowjob in his life. 

“I want to though…” Chan says quietly and Minho raises an eyebrow, “And I consider myself a fast learner, I get the picture…” He sounds like he’s mumbling, and it’s kind of cute, Minho smiles.

“Ok then, you earned it,” Minho says and Chan smiles, like it’s a big thing and Minho almost wants to roll his eyes at him, “Get something to get us cleaned though,” Chan looks confused and then he nods, and Minho gets up. Chan gives him a towel and when he gets clean, he lays down comfortably, just waiting. 

Minho stares at Chan, to find him staring back, his eyes have lost the rounded and sweet shape that is so recognizable, now they’re a little more sharped, and the jaw is even more apparent than ever before, it seems almost like the soft and shy Bang Chan that Minho feel for is hidden somewhere inside that man. Now, Minho realizes even more the sharp lines of his face and body, the way he’s perfectly sculpted and defined. 

It happens quickly, in a blink of an eye, Chan is on top of him, his arm giving him stability and the muscles are tensed up, and sometimes Minho forgets how ripped Chan actually is. He kisses Minho deeply, and it’s weird that the roles are reversed, because Chan has more of a possessive grip now, he takes control, and Minho doesn’t complain. It’s overwhelming when Chan touches Minho’s naked torso, maybe it’s because he’s deprived, maybe it’s because he wanted that so bad, for way too long, maybe it’s the intense attraction he never felt towards anyone, maybe it’s all of that together. 

Chan seems to enjoy it too, hands running up and down, and he doesn’t touch like Minho does, there’s this desperation, this strength in the way he touches, maybe Minho wasn’t the only one that wanted that too bad and for too long. There’s a difference between them, Minho is far from taken, so when Chan gets to his neck, there’s no carefulness, no fear of leaving a mark. Chan’s lips are thick and warm, and very wet, and he sucks Minho’s neck with a burning enthusiasm, and it almost hurts at times, but the shivers cover the pain completely. 

And Chan is more possessive than he ever shown to be, he marks both sides of Minho’s neck, and then his chest, leaving a path, a path that is almost like marking his territory. Minho has no absolute clue how Chan acts like that’s not the first time he’s doing that. He enjoys it though, the way Chan licks his nipple, how his mouth feels heavy over his skin when he leaves kisses. 

When Chan gets to Minho’s hips, Minho looks down at Chan, and realizes he has his eyes completely closed, it’s funny, he acts so confident of what he’s doing but can’t open his eyes. And when he opens them, to look at Minho’s cock and then at Minho’s eyes, it’s magical. The round shape is back, he looks angelic between Minho’s legs. He holds Minho’s thigh tightly, his hand looks even paler against Minho’s sunkissed skin. 

Chan licks the tip of Minho’s cock hesitantly, and Minho shivers, so Chan licks it again more confidently. Minho is not the biggest blowjob enthusiast, but there’s something about the way Chan’s tongue is warm and wet, and the texture against the sensible skin of the tip. He sucks the tip then, mouth thigh and the soft lips give it a double sensation, his whole body tingles and Minho lets out a small noise. Chan smiles around his cock before taking in more inside his mouth, and fucking hell, Minho loves Chan’s mouth so much.

Chan takes almost everything on his mouth, and holds the base thighly, when he goes up and down Minho whines without even realizing, the tingling feeling gets even more intense, and it comes in waves of pleasure, Chan is indeed a fast learner, and when his teeth accidentally brushes against Minho’s cock the pain feels good too, it doesn’t happen again, because Chan gets the hang of it pretty soon. And Minho realizes he really got the hang of it when he starts to go faster, and he even chokes a little for going too deep, but he doesn’t stop. 

His mouth is thigh and burning hot, and Chan likes to go fast, Minho holds the back of his head, moaning quietly, and it seems like the touch from Minho makes Chan more enthusiastic. It starts building up, because Minho’s body shakes, it’s so wet and warm and it’s Chan, it’s Chan’s mouth, and that makes things more intense. The magnetic strike of Minho’s attraction towards Chan and the realization that after waiting for him for so long he’s right there, sucking Minho like his life depends on it, it’s too much. 

Minho’s legs shake and his tummy contracts, it’s too much, the way everything tingles so much it almost hurts, the overwhelming feeling of being touched and sucked. Minho tries to pull away from Chan by pulling his hair, but Chan doesn’t allow it, his mouth only gets tighter, and Minho moans his name before coming hard inside Chan’s mouth. Chan literally sucks him clean, and Minho's body softens, the hand on Chan’s hair drops down, and an electric feeling goes through his body, making him shiver. 

Chan takes his mouth out and Minho takes a few seconds to finally open his eyes, it’s a pretty intense orgasm compared to every experience he had, and Minho once again finds it difficult to know if it’s only because he’s been deprived, or if it’s Chan, because no one butters him up like Chan does, he didn’t know it was so intense, until he felt Chan touching him, marking his neck, sucking him off. 

Minho opens his eyes finally, and catches Chan licking his lips, those magical and plump lips of his, and Minho wants to say something but he’s on a loss for words. Chan is fully hard again and if Minho wasn’t quite tired with his body all sensible and his brain all foggy he would attack Chan and make him come again. Chan looks down on him and Minho taps his side, calling Chan. He’s not much of a cuddler, but he feels weirdly needy, and Chan smiles, before crawling up to lay by Minho’s side, their arms touching, and their heads too. And Minho’s senses get all messed up by Chan’s scent. 

So messed up Minho decides to turn around and lay his head on Chan’s arm, who naturally moves it to hold Minho’s body. Minho buries his face on Chan’s chest, he still smells the same as before, with a small smell of sweat, which makes his scent even better somehow. Minho throws his arm around Chan’s waist and Chan pulls him even closer, their whole naked bodies touching, Chan leaves a small kiss on the top of Minho’s head.

It was supposed to feel weird, cuddling with someone, especially after something sexual, that’s the time Minho would be up and putting his clothes back on. And as the minutes pass on, Minho should be checking his face on the mirror, adjusting his hair, and when 5 minutes pass he should already be leaving. But he’s not leaving, his face is still buried on Chan’s chest, listening to his beating heart, feeling the overwhelming warmth of his body, melting inside his thigh embrace. It’s scary, because if Minho were the one to decide, he would never leave, he would stay there, by Chan’s side, enjoying every second of his presence. Minho wants to stay. 

Why is the concept of staying not making Minho go insane? Why does he want it more than anything? Why does Chan feel like home? Home. Chan is someone he has to hide, someone who’s unusual and forbidden, but even with all that, all those facts weighing over Minho’s shoulder, being with Chan is like coming home. And coming home never felt so easy, even though it’s the hardest thing he ever faced. 

“Minho,” Chan whispers then, and Minho feels the vibrations of his chest when he speaks, and it almost makes him want to cry.

“Umh,” Minho hums, it feels like everything could ruin that moment, any word would make the guilt come back, that if he dared to speak he would realize that wasn’t meant for him, that he doesn’t deserve the good feelings inside his chest, that he doesn’t deserve that warmth, that he should’ve left. 

“I wish we could be like this forever,” Chan says then, like he read Minho’s mind, like he listened to every single thought, like there’s some kind of connection, and maybe there is, a connection Minho never felt before. It must be the way every feeling of his is reciprocated, maybe Chan feels the same way he does, maybe he feels it even more, and all those thoughts are too overwhelming to pay attention to. 

Minho accepted his feelings, even though there’s always doubt, but it seems harder to accept that Chan has feelings for him too, even though he has shown them a while ago, even though he always shows them. Minho knows that Chan has feelings for him, and he heard him say it out loud, sing it out loud, but he’s too scared to know how much, how deep, too scared of the fact he doesn’t deserve them.  _ How could a heart like his fall for a heart like mine.  _

Minho takes a long breath, “Me too,” He admits, and it’s so small and so quiet Chan wouldn’t hear it if they weren’t so close, Minho whispers because louder tones could break everything down. He feels embarrassed and feels an annoying shame on the back of his head for admitting he wants to stay like that too, it doesn’t sound like him, even though it’s true. 

“Run away with me,” Chan says enthusiastically, and Minho would laugh, if Chan didn’t sound dead serious. Minho looks up, to find Chan looking back and then he looks inside Chan’s eyes, and he searches for a lie, he searches for a joke. There’s nothing there but honesty. 

“That’s not possible,” Minho says then, and his tone is louder now, because he wants Chan to hear, and to tell him that’s a joke. He doesn’t. 

“It is… I’ve been saving a vacation for later, I have a few days, we could go somewhere, somewhere other than Seoul, where we can be together,” He says then, and once again Minho fails to find any playfulness, he’s serious, and probably insane. Minho moves his head up, and uses his arm as support, and Chan moves a little up too, so they’re completely facing each other.

“We are going to get recognized everywhere in Korea, Chan,” Minho says then, and he wants Chan to look defeated, to say that was stupid, but he only looks like he’s coming up with more, Minho feels weirdly anxious. 

“We can go somewhere out of Korea then,” Chan says, and fucking hell he really believes that can happen because his eyes shine with hope it seems, and Minho sighs, he wishes to see things that simplily. 

“It doesn’t matter where we go, Chan, we can’t be seen together,” And that hurts like hell to say, everything hurts like hell, the way Minho wanted to not give a single fuck and leave Korea with Chan, just to stay with him, and it hurts that it’s not possible, it hurts that he’s teeling the truth, they can’t be seen together and they can’t be together. 

“Then let’s not get seen, I can find a place, a house somewhere, where we can stay for a while, just a few days…” Chan insists, and that doesn’t seem like that bad of an idea, but he doesn’t know how they would get somewhere, because they can’t even get in the same plane, the same car, and Minho is afraid to be followed. 

“Chan,” Minho says then, he sounds defeated and he is defeated, because the weight of it finally makes a difference, a louder tone did break everything. Minho wants to cry, he wants to cry so hard, because he wants Chan, he needs him, and he can’t have it, and he accepted that he wants him, and he had him, for a while, but that is going to end. Minho goes back to the way he was feeling before. 

“Minho, listen to me,” Chan says then, instinting even more and Minho doesn’t say anything, “I know you want to be with me as much as I want to be with you,” And Minho hates that he’s right, he hates every single second of that, “I have houses all around the country, I can get one far away from everyone, we can meet somewhere safe, and I can drive us there,” Minho feels like his world is crushing, “I promise you, I can make this work,” Can he? “Please,” Chan sounds almost like he’s going to cry.

Minho closes his eyes forcefully, letting out a sigh. He doesn’t have anything to lose, but at the same time, he has everything to lose, he wants to accept Chan’s request, he wants to go anywhere with him, if Chan takes him to a shithole, he wouldn’t complain, he wants to be with Chan more than he wanted anything in his life. But there’s too many consequences, it’s too dangerous, way too dangerous. Minho wants to pretend he’s not scared of anything, but he’s scared of losing everything, he’s scared of losing Chan, and scared Chan would lose things too. Caring never hurted so much. 

Minho remembers then, where he used to be before Chan, the emptiness he felt in Paris, the way he got a huge chance but it didn’t feel like he accomplished anything, that he went down to that shitty bar in that shitty hotel with that shitty yellow light because he felt empty. He wanted to drink as much alcohol as he could, so at least his body would be filled with something. He remembers then, that it didn’t matter anymore, because Chan asked him if he wanted his coat, because Chan approached him.

He remembers that night when his soul was crushed and the emptiness was back, that he cried on his kitchen floor, and that all he wanted was a heart filler or something to make him less confused, that he felt like he would stay in that situation forever. But calling Chan put him to sleep. He remembers how it was before, burning bodies waiting, leaving right after, trying not to go back to old addictions to feel better. And he realizes, that even though Chan made him miserable because he didn’t know how to feel, since Chan appeared, Minho never considered going back to his old addictive habits, and that when he tried, he ended up going back to Chan.

Minho is empty because he was born and raised to be, because he chose it, because he made all the wrong choices and because he never loved himself enough to try. Chan made him try. Try to stay, try to feel, try to understand, to care, to live. Minho was born and raised to be empty, but as soon as Chan walks in, he’s full. As soon as Chan walks in, he’s loved. Chan made him try, and now the choice is his to make, to try or to not try. 

“We can try,” Minho says then, and he never felt so reckless, because maybe, even though Minho’s life was based on being reckless, maybe that’s the most reckless thing he has ever done. And he wants it. Chan is the answer. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again sorry for the mistakes, for 20k those are easy to miss, and also sorry if the nsfw parts are cringy? because it seems to me that they’re. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!! see you next time, and I promise it won’t take as long as it did this time around.
> 
> Love, Rainy.


	8. I’ve been anywhere and it’s not what I want (I wanna be still with you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I will always feel lost out of my comfort zone and I need you to help me not to drown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO! After more than a month without updating this and having a terrible time with my writer's block, I'm finally here with the eighth installment of Homewrecker! Sorry for making everyone wait so long for me to post and I'll try to make it quicker by adjusting my writing process and I really hope it works lol.
> 
> This one is more laid back and less sad than all the last ones, it's fairly angsty still because well, it Homewrecker, but the ones that follow - 9 and 10 - would be the reason why there's a tag "sometimes fluff" and also they're the last ones in the 1st act. This history is separated into two acts and be ready and hold on to your phones when the second one arrives. 
> 
> For now, enjoy the first day of the beautiful trip!

Lee Minho was many things, he was always many many things. Sometimes too much at the same time. But Lee Minho wasn’t much of an explorer, in the actual meaning of the word, he explored many things, those considered forbidden especially. Minho tasted way too many drugs, way too many boys, way too many drinks, and way too many mistakes. But for people outside of his blurred view of exploring things that world means something different. Explore, is to investigate, travel over. And as much as Minho saw many places, he never cared much for them.

When Minho was 5 years old, or something like that, he saw the sea for the first time of his life, Busan is a city of many perks and places, and Minho not being an explorer, focused more on the beach. He remembers seeing it more innocently, the sea for him now is a place that makes him feel small, understood, lost but found, but as a child, it meant infinity. He remembers being shocked at first glance, he never saw that much water, that much blue, and looking at the sea, the line of the sky blending with the bluest water he ever saw, it felt like it would never end.

The horizon seemed infinite, the magnitude showed him that the world was big, and at times, that wasn’t scary. He liked to watch the sea, the waves breaking at shore, to find small sea animals lost in the soft sand, and Minho misses it very much being surprised by things, finding things interesting, it feels sometimes like his memories before he could understand the world have more color than the more recent ones. Minho misses the ignorance, the innocence, not being aware, and the worst part of missing those is that you can never get them back.

Minho went to the Jeju around that age too, and he thought being on a boat was the scariest craziest thing ever, not understanding fully how that can float over the wild waters, and being too scared that the boat was going to sink. Those feelings are so irrational but simple. Minho also misses the simplest things, like not understanding how a boat works, not understanding why it rains, why we stick on the ground and not float on air. It seems to him that the more he knows, the world gets less and less interesting.

He was fascinated by the night sky exactly because of that because he knew it didn’t matter how much he studied it, how much people discover new things, it’s infinite, it can never be fully explored. Just like the sea, and both of those are scary, both of those made Minho interested and scared.

There wasn’t much traveling going on in his life, his father used to travel, and stay distant for a long time, and Minho got used and comfortable with staying home. When he was a teenager, he started his turbulent way of exploring, he started by exploring Seoul as a whole, knowing the best places, watching the Han River and the city lights, and when all of those got boring. Minho explores ways to make them interesting again, and he explored every way of making his senses different, and every bar he could find a way in. 

When Minho first went to Paris, he didn’t explore. He saw the buildings, the Eiffel tower, at first glance surprising, but after a while, he would get bored of them, as he did with the city lights and the Han River. He stayed mostly at his hotel, and the other half taking pictures and walking on runways. Nothing seemed to matter, Paris was just another city in a world that is decaying at every second, a world that will end with a curse and bang, nothing worth looking at. 

When Minho went to Paris for the second time, he didn’t even bother to look at those things people would love to take pictures of. He found them shallow, crowded, lifeless, and he stayed at his hotel, and maybe if he decided to explore a bit more, he would’ve met Chan, instead of going to that hotel bar, he would’ve gone out to stare at postcard images that are real. 

Seoul got even more boring with time, he would work at the same places, do the exact same things, and would seek something different in new faces, new bodies, new contacts to ruin. It seemed though, recently, like he didn’t explore the fullest of Seoul, because the person that lives inside his mind, is 15 minutes away. He knew then, he could memorize every single building, but he couldn't memorize every single person there. 

Minho was the taster, not the explorer. And when he found himself looking at luggage and staring at his wardrobe looking for appropriate clothes to go somewhere he didn’t even know, it all hit. He’s willing to go anywhere, to hide somewhere, and it matters, he’s interested to know where he’s going, why he’s going, what’s going to bring, what he’s going to see. And maybe that’s the way explorers feel, always wanting to get to know every corner.

Seungmin is coming over to help him pack, to help him keep calm, to help him with everything. Changbin, as Seungmin said, is not in the mood, which is rare, and concerning, but when he asked if he should be concerned, Seungmin said no. Minho decides he’s not packing anything before Seungmin arrives. He sits on his bed waiting for the key noises. 

Seungmin arrives with no introduction, because when Minho realizes he’s already walking into the bedroom, and he has this smug expression looking at Minho, “What?” Minho says, and Seungmin walks towards him sitting on the side of the bed, and he glares directly at Minho’s face.

“Remind me exactly why I’m here again,” Seungmin seems both angry and neutral, which is kind of standard behavior but he’s mischievous today, and Minho knows exactly why. 

“Shut up!” Minho says then, and he feels so incredibly dumb, yet he won’t give that up, Seungmin just frowns, he’s making Minho say it, Minho sighs, “You’re helping me fucking pack so I can go and travel with Chan,” There it is the look gets even more mischievous. 

“Tell me why this is a good idea,” And Seungmin is deadly serious, Minho sometimes loves him way too much to be constantly reminded that he’s the biggest pain in the ass to ever exist. 

“It is not, Seungmin, is the worst fucking idea, but I’m doing it,” Minho says, a little bit too aggressive, and it’s basically, defensiveness, Seungmin as the weird person he is, he smiles, and Minho glares at him.

“That’s what I wanted to hear, love,” The love is ironic and unironic, and living with Seungmin is exactly like that, you can never know where he’s going if he’s being ironic or not. You just end up getting used to the way he acts and ignoring certain actions, and Minho loves him anyway, “I’m choosing all your clothes by the way, as much as I love the whore you are today, you’re going to a casual trip,” 

“I’m a model, I can choose my own outfits,” Minho protests just for the sake of it, and Seungmin rolls his eyes getting up from the bed, going to the closet.

“Yes, and I’m a fucking actor I know how to pretend to be normal,” Seungmin says, calmly, it’s funny that normally, swearing is more aggressive, but between each other is standard, “You asked for me because you know that, I’m not allowing you to go… I don’t know… Cuddle with the engaged one, in leather pants and crop tops,” Minho rolls his eyes.

“We’re not going to cuddle,” Minho says, with a very small tone, because he knows he’s lying. He’s not going there to cuddle, actually, he doesn’t know exactly what he’s going to do there, or where he’s even going. Which seems incredibly crazy, Minho is reckless, but he’s a huge planner, even to be reckless he plans it before doing it.

“Quit lying to yourself,” Seungmin says from the closet, there are noises of him messing around the clothes, and Minho just lays down on the bed, staring at the ceiling, “Where are you going with him?” Seungmin asks from the closet.

“I don’t know yet,” Minho says back, and puts his hands in the air and plays with his fingers, “He said he had houses everywhere, and he’s choosing one as we speak,” Minho says and he hears Seungmin humming to himself. 

“He’s taking a good while to do that, either he’s too rich or very indecisive,” Seungmin sounds so naturally, it’s weird because he even sounds happy, and it’s just incredibly cozy, Minho laughs.

“Both, he’s very rich and a Libra,” Minho says, and Seungmin laughs too. Minho doesn’t know why he remembers Chan’s zodiac sign, they never talked about it, but when Minho looked him up, he got that information.

“Jesus, Minho, you’re an astrology type of gay now too?” Seungmin says, and Minho laughs hard. 

“Yes, and that’s very Virgo of you,” He knows Seungmin is rolling his eyes even though he can see it. 

“Shut up!” Seungmin says, and Minho hears him walking around, he moves his head to see Seungmin holding a bunch of clothing, “I’m finally out of the closet,” Seungmin says dramatically like he won something, he’s very good at acting. Minho doesn’t know if it’s a talent or if it’s a defense, and maybe it’s both. 

“I wish I could record that and send it to dispatch, they would love to hear that,” Minho jokes and Seungmin let out a half-laugh, looking at him with a weird grin.

“Oh, Minho, I have much more on you, you wouldn’t dare,” It’s not only a threat, but a fact and a joke, just the Seungmin way, and Minho tries to picture a life where he doesn’t have him, and it doesn’t seem worth it. 

“I forget how easy it is to blackmail me,” Minho says then, getting up and sitting in the bed, “I’ll never fight you, Seungminnie! Not because I’m scared of the blackmail but because I love you,” 

“It’s disgusting, even when you say it jokingly,” Seungmin says, and Minho smiles, because he knows Seungmin only pretends to not like being loved, it’s rare for them both to say that to each other. Both because of the way they are and because they don’t need to, it’s just established. Even though some people doubt their love when they actually interact. 

“I love the boredness of your clothing selection, diamond boy,” Minho jokes then, looking at the great collection of highly expansive but still very casual clothing Seungmin is holding, Seungmin looks at him dead in the eyes just to roll them. 

“It’s called normal clothes, Minho, for someone who understands fashion I expected more,” Seungmin says then, and he starts folding them like a mom making their son’s luggage, “I also like the dark academia style them, it suits you,” Seungmin says casually.

“I don’t have an established style, I guess,” Minho says then, and Seungmin looks at him with disbelief, “What?” 

“Your style is whore and… Goth, which is weird but also suits you,” Seungmin says, and Minho smiles, he would probably be bragging about all styles looking great on him, but he only smiles at his best friend who is just casually folding clothes. 

“Never saw me as a goth, but I think that explains a bit,” Minho says casually, and he stares at Seungmin, he seems relaxed, and weirdly entertained by his mission of folding those clothes. When he finishes it, he places them by the huge leather bag Minho has and sits down next to Minho.

“Minho,” Seungmin says, and Minho looks at him biting his thumb, “You know I’m not very into the feelings department,” He says then, and he isn’t, Seungmin is great at showing emotions, but only when he’s being recorded, “How are you… Feeling?” He asks, and his tone is awkward, normally Seungmin fixes problems and Changbin asks about feelings. 

“I’m weirdly fine, better than most of the times before,” And that is weird to say, Minho feels even a little awkward and uncomfortable, his brain makes him feel guilty when he’s feeling okay, he doesn’t know how to explain it shortly, but it’s like he doesn’t deserve it, and that his personality is based on not being okay, “I mean, I’m a little anxious, it’s something quite new,” 

“Not only quite, it’s completely new,” Seungmin says, and Minho nods, because it is, not only the concept of traveling, but the concept of liking someone, of traveling with someone, the concept of not being completely alone after a few hours, and he’s scared he would hate it so much it’s awkward, or love it so much he misses it forever, and he knows that for him, there’s no in-between, “You know Minho, I wish this Chan thing wasn’t so complicated, he’s good for you,” 

“But am I good for him?” Minho asks then, and he doesn’t know the answer and he doesn’t know if Seungmin knows that answer, and he still hasn't asked Chan about how he actually feels, he’s not ready for that, but he doesn’t know where he will ever be. 

“Who fucking cares? If he wants to be around you, it doesn’t matter,” Seungmin says and Minho bites his lip, “I know your brain is now burning with all the circumstances, but let them be circumstances because they’re unchangeable,” And Minho realizes that Seungmin has outgrown him, in huge levels. 

“Thank you, you know, you’re good on the feelings department,” Minho says and Seungmin gives him a half-smile, “You just don’t use to yourself, I guess,” And Seungmin nods, no sass on his expression or anything, just the natural dandy side of Seungmin he doesn’t like people to see. 

“It’s the same with you, and honestly, even the best one on the feelings department of all of us doesn’t use for himself,” And that’s a very good way of describing the three of them, they’re so solid because they need each other to see what they already saw but choose to ignore, it’s chaotic but balanced. They’re a triangle, and any missing piece just makes them two lost lines. 

“How is he really doing, Seungmin?” It’s weird talking about Changbin like that, it’s weird that he’s not there and concerning that if he’s not there he doesn’t have anyone, and Minho has a weird feeling, a gut type of feeling he can’t describe. 

“Bad, but Changbin is never good, is he?” Seungmin says then, and Minho nods, but he realizes that Seungmin is worried, and that is the most worrying thing ever because Seungmin is laid back, “He met this boy, and I don’t know who he is, he hasn’t opened up to me, but a lot is happening and he’s relying on alcohol as always,” Minho sighs, Changbin tends to close himself, all of them do, and their similarities are like monsters, that all of them have to carry. 

“Sometimes I feel like it’s my fault, Seungmin,” Minho admits then, and he lets out a long sigh, and Seungmin just stares at him blankly, “I feel guilty because I introduced him to alcohol, to everything,” And Minho almost wants to cry, but Seungmin is still collected, it seems like since Minho met Chan, he became a cry baby, he used to hold on to tears so much before him, and now they just roll. 

“It might be,” Seungmin says and Minho’s stomach gets cold, “But if you didn’t, he would learn by himself, and his addiction to it is not your fault, Changbin has to work on that himself,” Seungmin is right. 

“But I wanted to help in some way,” Minho says then, desperately, “He helped me so much,” Minho says lower then, and it’s terrible to even remember the time Changbin helped him, and sometimes he thinks he should stay away so those things won’t happen again. 

“Minho, he only helped you when you wanted to be helped,” Seungmin says, and Minho frowns, “We lost you for almost a whole year, you didn’t want to be helped, and there’s nothing we could’ve done,” Seungmin says then, and Minho has such a weird memory of those days, it’s all blurred, but it was indeed almost a whole year, “I’ll try to talk to him, and that’s all I can do because he doesn’t want to hear it yet,” Seungmin has indeed outgrown Minho, and he wants to know exactly when he lost his maturity, maybe it’s because he’s finally allowing himself to feel what he should’ve felt years ago. 

“I’m sorry about that year,” Minho says then, and Seungmin grins, and his eyes are laid back again, natural, and sometimes Minho wonders if someday Seungmin will soften up if he’s capable of breaking the strong walls around himself. 

“I know you are,” Seungmin says then, and Minho would hug him very tightly now if the concept of hugging wasn’t so weird to them both, maybe Minho should help Seungmin to soften up, but he doesn’t know how to. And there’s a weird realization, Minho wants to change, he doesn’t know how or when, but one day he wants to be a little bit more like Chan, so he can help his friends to be a little bit like him too. 

Minho learns that night, he’s going to Jeju, and that tickets from a plane will arrive at his house at any time, and they do. Minho almost feels guilty for not paying his tickets, but Chan seems like the type of person that likes to pay. They’re going to spend three days and nights on Jeju, and Minho is anxious for a whole day before it’s finally time for him to leave. 

He doesn’t stress so much, because Seungmin spends the day with him, he’s driving him to the airport, and picking him up too when he gets back, and he and Seungmin just stay together during the afternoon, until it’s time to sleep, and Seungmin is crashing at Changbin’s that night, he promises he will bring Changbin along to pick him up in the morning. Minho thought he wouldn’t sleep at all, but he does and does it quickly, probably because his anxiety knows that if he sleeps, it will take less time for the next morning. 

Minho wakes up 3 hours prior, even though he knows it’s not a crowded day, even though everything is already ready, and he makes Seungmin wake up at that time too since he calls him as soon as his eyes are open. He knows he can’t catch any attention at the airport, which is honestly sad. Minho wants to look like a snack when he finally meets Chan on Jeju, who got on a plane the day before to make preparations for something Minho doesn’t know. 

And Minho gets ready quickly, he arranges everything in his house for Seungmin to feed his cats, even though he knows Seungmin is aware of where everything is, he makes the access even easier so his cats are well taken care of in his absence. Three full days. Three days outside of the jungle of concrete, three full days not being Lee Minho the model, three full days around Chan. Now he’s anxious, but not because he wants to be there. But because he doesn’t know what is going to happen.

Minho is easy to adapt, which makes things harder when he has to adapt once again because he gets comfortable, he hates all his surroundings in Seoul and almost everything about his life. But that is his life. That is what he knows, Minho is not an explorer, he’s not a person who thinks outside of boxes, that goes on adventures, Minho is adaptable to the core, and the lack of comfort is scary. Minho is comfortable with living a terrible life, being unhappy, lonely, empty, and that’s all he knows, and three days without all of those seem like years.

He never sought help because of a bunch of different things. Minho is terrified of admitting to someone that his life is terrible, that he’s unhappy, that Lee Minho is a human that feels. Minho is terrified of being weak and needing someone else to keep living, to keep thriving. Minho is terrified of change, terrified of being someone he didn’t plan to be, to be open, to be happy, to feel content. Minho is terrified of having things he doesn’t deserve. Minho is comfortable with his terrible life, not only because it’s the only thing he knows, but because that’s what he deserves.

Deserving a break is not something Minho ever thought of, deserving a time away from the hell he created himself, his sense of justice is rigorous, Minho thinks that all of those who were bad deserve to be punished, they deserve the hate the world might give them. Hell was made for him because he created it, and those days don’t seem deserving.

Minho starts crying as soon as he realizes a bunch of things, the lack of deserving, the fact that he doesn’t know how to adapt to a place that isn’t terrible, the fact that he’s never fully enjoying any situation because his mind remembers him that everything is temporary and not enough, the fact that he doesn’t know how to feel towards someone, the fact that he doesn’t know how to interact with someone for too long, that as soon as some hours pass he becomes cold and distant, for reasons he doesn’t understand. 

And Minho lets his tears roll and roll, sitting on his couch, and he wants to jump out of the balcony, he wants the adrenaline of a fall that will end up being the end of his misery, he wants to do something concrete with a concrete ending. Nothing seems closed and concrete, all his links are wobbly lines with no end, Minho doesn’t see closure, and he wants to end all those lines at once. 

He doesn’t move a muscle though, while the agony makes his body uneasy and twitching, while the agony makes his brain run and run, hundred different voices whisper inside of it, and it makes him cry. But he doesn’t move a muscle. And it seems like the timing is always great when it comes to Minho, for better or for worse, because as soon as the tears get thicker, Seungmin walks into the living room, Changbin right beside him. And Minho only sees their legs.

“What is it, Minho?” Changbin says, and his voice is different from the last time he saw him, it sounds more like himself, maybe he’s better that day, maybe Changbin is getting better. Minho really wants Changbin to get better. 

“I bet he’s going insane,” Seungmin says then, his tone is normal and collected, and not even a little surprised almost like he knew that would happen, “I know you hate it, but let it out, we have time since you made me wake up 3 hours prior,” He’s complaining in a nice way, which seems like something that doesn’t exist, but Seungmin makes it a normal thing. 

Seungmin sits down in a chair in front of Minho and crosses his legs, and Changbin comes straight to the couch where Minho is sitting and puts one of his arms around Minho’s shoulder, and Minho lays down on him, the smell of cigarettes and lavender, Minho likes that odd combination. 

“I missed you, Bin,” Minho says then, and he sees Seungmin rolling his eyes, with a small grin on his lips, and Changbin just caresses his shoulder.

“I missed you too,” Changbin says, never scared of showing his feelings when it comes to love, always scared to show his feelings when it comes to sadness or failure. It seems like a good balance, but Changbin sees almost everything as sad and feels like every step he makes is a failure, “This must be new to you, right?” 

“Yes,” Minho says, short and to the point, hating the way his voice sounds desperate and weird, there’s something inside of Minho that makes him embarrassed of feeling things, a voice inside his head that judges everything he ever feels, a voice that likes to say that he’s pathetic, mediocre. 

“It is to us too,” Changbin says then sincerely, and Minho only nods. He’s warm and small, Changbin, he has ever been, and that’s why it’s so scary when he isn’t, Minho is used to seeing Changbin as one of the warmest things he ever saw when he gets cold, it’s almost like the real Changbin never existed. 

“Not to me, I get a bunch of diamonds traveling with rich men,” Seungmin says his tone is flat and nonchalant, and the normality of it almost makes Minho laugh, “Changbin don’t look at me like that,” 

“You sound like a prostitute,” Changbin says then, and Minho’s tears get less heavy while he listens to the bickering that’s going to evolve. 

“I’m more of a mistress, I have class,” Seungmin brags and Minho smiles at him, he smiles back, which is weirdly comforting, Minho really likes when Seungmin smiles, there’s something so important about Seungmin smiling, something so pure. 

“The problem is, have you ever gone on a romantic getaway?” Changbin asks, and Seungmin frowns, doing a small pout with his lips, clearly thinking, which is weird since Seungmin never got involved romantically with anyone, Minho doesn’t know if that is good or bad. 

“Well it depends, based on my actual feelings, no,” Seungmin says, and he moves his legs crossing it but with the other one on top, “But most of my rich man think I do, so I lived romantic situations,” Seungmin explains, “I know exactly what they are, and I enjoy it, I only record romantic dramas, it increases my talent on acting like I feel something,” Minho laughs now. 

“Any advice, mistress?” Changbin says with a strong voice, and Minho just knows he’s giving Seungmin his “mom look” which is a look that forces people to do things by fear, which could be intimidating, but it isn’t, is more like, I rather do that than have Changbin disappointed. 

“Well, on acting, a bunch, having teary years, acting surprised when they say or do something, laugh at their jokes, pretending you don’t want to die when they try holding hands,” Seungmin sounds like a teacher, and his face is not even a little bit ironic, “But Minho is not going to act, so I advise him to just be himself and enjoy the fucking trip,” 

“But who am I?” Minho says then, and Seungmin rolls his eyes. Changbin is still caressing his shoulder.

“You are this mess crying because of a trip with your lover, you’re ironic and annoying but with a good heart, you make several mistakes while living but they haunt you so much it makes it easy to forgive, you’re smart and witty, you have enough things to say, you just think you don’t know yourself because of your self-hatred, and you’re very much in love,” Seungmin says in a tone that is so practical it’s almost a statement, he doesn’t flinch it just all goes out. Minho is extremely shocked.

“He’s right,” Changbin says then, after a few seconds of full silence, “And I think you’re already yourself with that man and he seems to enjoy it enough to fly his ass to an island just to be with you for longer than a night,” Changbin is weirdly right. 

“But I don't think I deserve it,” Minho lets out and Changbin sighs, probably because he heard that a bunch of times before, and Seungmin did too, and Minho hears it every 5 minutes. 

“You probably don’t, but who the fuck cares, you’ve been through enough, if it makes you feel better in any way it’s only 72 hours of something good, and compared to the number of hours you have to feel miserable when you get back, it’s almost like nothing,” Seungmin says and weirdly enough, that does make Minho feel better.

When they finally leave the house to go to the airport, they sing along to the girl group Twice on the music player in the car and scream the lyrics of Mitski songs when they come around on Seungmin’s playlists. They drop him at the airport, and Seungmin wishes him good luck and Changbin gives him a huge hug almost like he’s never going to see him again. 

Minho checks in a little bit sooner, and eats a croissant while waiting for his flight to finally arrive, he thanks whatever is in charge of the world for Lee Minho is a common name and that his passport image is terrible because all of those make him unrecognized. Chan booked first class, of course, he did. 

The plane is not crowded at all, especially the first class, not many people travel to Jeju in the middle of the year and most of them wouldn’t expend double the money for a 33-minute flight. But Chan does because he probably feels like Minho is somewhat deserving of such luxury, and Minho feels like yes, he’s made for the glory but feels weird and he doesn’t buy it himself. Minho listens to Mitski on his earbuds for 3 songs before napping for another 20 minutes and waking up when the plane is almost landing. 

He texts Chan about being almost there, and Chan tells him a big black car will be waiting, with very dark windows too, and Minho thinks he’s set up for a kidnap with that description, and he probably is getting kidnapped, but a consensual kidnapper. When he lands on Jeju, the airplane is much less crowded than Seoul’s which is highly expected, and he eats another croissant. When he gets out of the airport, right by the door there’s a car that follows the description. Minho moves around looking at the front of the car and sees curly hair, and that is enough for him to get inside, and if he gets inside the car of an actual kidnapper Minho will make Chan pay for the rescue.

But when he opens the door, the dark curls are clear, the black mask covers the face but not the eyes, which are shaped like two crescent moons, which shows Minho that Chan is smiling. He’s there, and Minho missed him so much it’s almost stupid, and Minho gets in the car feeling a bit awkward because he can’t hug him or attack him. 

“Hi,” Minho says when he’s finally settled, his bag on his lap, and he almost wants to laugh because he doesn’t know how to act, he forgets everything and anything he ever learned about talking to people at that moment, because he feels dislocated. Chan grabs the bag and puts it on the back seats.

“Hi,” He says back, and his tone seems so bubbly, Minho thinks that if Chan wasn’t sitting down he would be jumping out of joy which Minho likes to imagine because his curls would jump too. They both look like thieves, with black masks and outfits. And well, they look like two celebrities trying not to get recognized, “Had a good flight?” He asks casually, and Minho remembers how strange it is to small talk.

“Well, I couldn’t enjoy my experience in the first-class since I ended up napping,” Minho says then, and Chan giggles, Minho missed his giggles too, and he realizes that he missed every aspect of Chan, and he will be able to get all of Chan for a while, and that makes his legs shake a little bit. 

“That’s the good part of first classes, it’s comfortable enough to sleep, and when the flight is long it’s a good place to eat too,” Chan says casually and he sounds so relaxed just driving, and Minho stares at him, the curls hiding his eye away, his veiny and milky hands resting on the steering wheel, his posture perfect and his toned arms marking the long-sleeved shirt. Chan is a beautiful view. 

And then Chan is not the only beautiful view he has, because Minho looks out of the window, and they’re driving right by the sea, a bunch of small boats in the distance, the waters are calm, and Minho asks if he can open the window and Chan agrees. And there it is, the breeze is slightly cold, brushing against Minho’s cheeks, and the water is dark blue, and Minho can see every small wave moving around, the air is light and easy to breathe in, he never felt that relaxed before. Minho forgot how much he loved the sea. 

They travel by thinner streets and there are green and beautiful trees around them, and the air is thin, and the water blue, and everything is beautiful. They travel for 30 minutes it seems, and Minho lets his headrest on the window looking outside. And sometimes he feels Chan’s gaze on him for a little while, and it’s comfortable. Seungmin said that one of the key points is pretending to be surprised, but Minho isn't pretending. 

They arrive at a house with big walls and gates, and there are no neighbors at all, it’s literally just them and the green and the sea. Minho is shocked, completely shocked, he didn’t know what to expect before, and now it reaches expectations he didn’t even have. Chan opens the gate and they get inside, the house is very huge and very fancy, there are glass windows everywhere, and the yellow lightings inside make it shine even in the day. It's a beautiful house and probably very close to the sea, he’s very excited to see the inside and outside of the place Chan arranged for them. The anxious feeling still lingers inside his body and maybe it will never leave, Minho will have to live with that weird feeling. 

Chan leaves the car first and for some reason, Minho is locked in place, now it’s real, he’s there, he’s on Jeju and he’s with Chan, where he’s staying for a while, and his stomach is cold, his legs are shaking again. Minho jumps on his seat when Chan opens the door, and Minho looks at him. His mask is no longer covering his face, and his nose is very blushed, he smiles while handling a hand towards Minho. Minho stares at it for a few seconds, just to feel real again, and then takes off his seatbelt. He takes the hand, it’s very warm and Chan helps him out of the car. 

They don’t go to the door or to the car to get Minho’s bag, Chan leads a very nervous Minho towards a small door on the side of the house, Minho takes long breaths, looking at the back of Chan’s head, watching the soft dark curls tangling with one another. He looks at their hands locked together, Chan doesn’t have big hands, yet they’re bigger than Minho’s, they’re more veiny and strong. It’s a grip that seems as soft and it could be and as protective, as it could be. And it hits, Minho feels safe, even though everything around him is new and scary. If Chan led him to his death, he would feel safe as long as Chan holds his small hands into his. 

Minho was right to assume they were close to the sea. Chan opens another door after a long hall, and there's a huge backyard, with a pool that has illumination, some flowers are thrown here and there, there’s a small land of grass, and then, the sea, immensity. The world feels big again, as it felt when Minho was a child, he cannot see the other end, only the thin line between the sky and the sea, they look like they’re kissing, even though they’re almost worlds apart. Minho closes his eyes and takes a long breath, enjoying the way the sea air is clear, there’s a slight scent of flowers and dirt, and Minho knows at that moment that he will miss that place forever, and a small sting makes his chest hurt.

“What do you think?” Chan asks, his tone is extremely excited, Minho is still locked in place, moving his head around to see more details, the flowers are roses, deep red and light pink, the grass is a bright green, and the waters of the sea are calm, with small waves breaking against the small shore of stones, “I took a guess when I choose it, you seem like the type of person that likes the sea,” Minho takes his eyes out of the horizon and stares at Chan, whose right beside him.

Chan’s eyes are glimmering with soft excitement, and he has a small grin on his face that makes his dimples apparent, he seems so happy and anxious, like a puppy waiting for you to open the door, and he’s beautiful, and he’s Minho’s, not forever, but today, tomorrow, and after tomorrow too. Just his. Minho understands a little more of Seungmin’s way of acting, he understands what he does, Seungmin gets inside a fantasy, for a few days, for a night, sometimes a whole week. Minho has 3 days to stay inside the fantasy that Chan is his, that they’re something. A fantasy, still though. 

Minho wraps his arms around Chan’s shoulders abruptly, and Chan steps back a little before holding Minho’s waist with a tight and warm grip, and Minho stares at him up close. His small eyes, always so shiny, like tiny stars live inside them, the lines of his nose, his lips, the deep dimples that give him a gaze more innocent and sweet. Minho’s heart feels like it’s going to burst, and there’s once another difference between Chan and Jisung, or everyone else he ever stayed with. What he feels for Chan is too big for himself, too big for his heart, too big to his body, Minho is full. So he smiles at Chan, and it’s a weird feeling because he thinks his eyes are shining, he can picture it, and he captures Chan’s lips with his own. 

Kissing Chan for the first time after a few hours or days away from him always feels the same, it feels like the longing and the aching inside Minho is gone, at least for a while, his senses go slower, and the world seems to go slow motion no longer running and running towards nowhere. Things make sense, Minho doesn’t feel all the pain, and inside his closed eyes the stars live, his nose can only smell perfume and his mouth only tastes like cinnamon and mint. If Minho were to choose a place to die, he would die inside the kiss after missing Chan for a while. And he would be happy.

Minho breaks the kiss but not the embrace, he lays his head on Chan’s neck and smells it for a while, Chan kindly runs his hands on Minho’s back, “You guessed right,” Minho says and it’s a bit stuffy because he talks straight to Chan’s neck.

“What?” Chan asks because he probably couldn’t hear what Minho has said, Minho brushes his nose against the soft skin of Chan’s neck for one last time before taking his head out of it, he stares inside Chan’s eyes, the sweet gaze.

“You guessed right,” Minho says, and now it’s loud and clear, clear as that day, there’s a softness to his tone that it doesn’t sound like him, but his head is cloudy and he hears his heart beating on his ears, “I do love the sea,” 

“I’m glad you do, imagine if I guessed wrong,” Chan sounds playful, he’s not able of hiding that he’s happy, there’s something Minho realized, Chan always expresses every feeling of his clearly, Minho wants to be like that one day, the only thing he’s good at showing is the one of being overwhelmed. It melts out of his eyes. 

“I don’t think you would, sometimes I think you know me better than I know myself,” Minho lets out and it’s weirdly true, Chan doesn’t know much about how Minho feels daily or felt before, he has a good clue of it, but it’s not as concrete. But Chan is the only person who knows the “Real Minho”, the only one who doesn’t care about his name, the one who knows what to say and do, and who knows what Minho likes, even though Minho never told him. Sometimes Minho just discovers things he loves through Chan, Chan just taught him about the sea. 

“I think that is very good,” Chan says then simply, and bends his head slightly to the side, curls falling on his sweet face, Minho automatically brushes them to the side, Chan smiles before talking again, “Because I know the parts of you that you hate, and I like them all,” 

“Honestly, I don’t know who’s crazier, me with my weird conception of myself or you for liking me this way,” Minho says and Chan lets out one of his adorable giggles, and Minho smiles because he’s happy. Minho doesn’t know how happiness feels anymore, but he knows that he is. 

“The best people are crazy, so I guess, we are both a little crazy too,” Chan is the sweetest person alive, Minho thinks, maybe he hasn’t met many sweet beings, maybe he’s very unlucky with the people he interacts with, but there’s this voice in his head telling him he will never find someone like him. 

Minho lets go of the grip, and this time he’s not so worried about missing it, not at all, he can finally be inside Chan’s arms for more than a few hours, “Walk around with me,” Minho says, and he puts his hand on the air for Chan to take, and that seems to make Chan almost faint, because he looks so happy Minho fears his going to explode. Chan takes his hand quickly, almost scared Minho would simply give up. 

Minho guides them around by the resting chairs and sun umbrellas, he goes very close to the edge of the pool and looks down at the clear water, Minho likes to swim, he’s glad Chan chose a place with a pool, “All the places had pools?” Minho asks curiously, looking at the water and Chan moves his head. 

“Nope, I used to be a swimmer, so I wanted a place I could swim,” There’s a good explanation to the wide shoulders, Minho can imagine a younger Chan swimming on a high school pool, and it’s even more surprising to Minho that Chan is so inexperienced if Minho ever saw a beautiful broad-shouldered swimmer on his high school not only him but almost everyone would jump to get him. 

“I like swimming too, I find it relaxing,” Minho lets out simply, and then looks at Chan’s face, to catch him looking back, Chan seems unbothered by his surroundings, he hasn’t taken his eyes of Minho for the whole time they were together, “You used to compete?” Minho asks. 

“Yes, and not to brag but I was very good at it,” He says and lets out a small embarrassed laugh, Chan is insecure. Minho knows how insecure he is, it’s rather strange, he was always brave to take steps with Minho, but he never talks about himself with his mouth full, Minho wonders if Chan knows how he actually is, “My father used to own a place, where you could learn how to swim, he was a good teacher… Almost all my childhood memories are inside pools,” 

“It seems like he would pressure you to be good…” Minho says a little quiet because it’s an assumption that might be completely wrong, Chan’s father is a character Minho doesn’t understand, he knows he hates him, but he doesn’t know much. 

“He would, as I said, he was a good teacher,” Chan says then, he sounds a little distant almost like he’s remembering his childhood again, and Minho doesn’t know if that’s good or bad, “I was the model child, and it didn’t bother me for a good while, I liked winning and swimming,” 

“But you got tired of it,” Minho assumes again and Chan nods, making a small pout, he’s cute, and he gets, even more, cuter when he’s thoughtful. 

“Well, I did, but he wasn’t there to see,” Chan says, and again very distant, “It was too late for me to be a little more rebellious, and I got involved with the company also…” He says, and scratches his head, “I also don’t know how to be rebellious anyways,” And that’s supposed to be the justification for him, and Minho gets sad because he knows that excuse isn’t enough. 

“How did he go from a swimming teacher to this rich ass businessman?” Minho asks and he’s genuinely curious because it’s a huge jump from place to place, and it was probably even more huge to Chan himself because he was too young. 

Minho finds it funny that age concerns him so much when it comes to people taking decisions, because of all the bad things and crazy things he did, he was always too young. And when people told him he was too young to do something, Minho would trick both himself and the person into believing he was mature enough. Minho was too young when he behaved like an adult. He and Chan are polar opposites in that too, Chan is tormented for not living enough, and Minho is tormented for living too much, making too many mistakes, and wasting his innocent times with subjects that he thought were meant for him. They weren’t. 

“My family was already wealthy, I mean, my dad’s business was only his passion, he had enough money outside of it,” Chan says, “My dad was someone completely different when I was little, he was seen with bad eyes from people for choosing to teach swimming and not working on the company,” Chan sounds like he’s talking about someone else, and that’s something that hurts to realize, to see that Chan knows two sides of someone, two sides so opposed, “But my uncle died and he got involved, he came to Korea, to work, and he just never got back,” Minho feels like crying.

“Money and power can change everyone when you have everything nothing seems to be enough,” Minho tries to sound comforting but it’s just too realistic, and Minho hates that Chan has to deal with that, “I’m talking by experience,” Minho says and lets out a small awkward laugh, and Chan gives him a sad smile, “I’m sorry I brought it up,” 

“It’s okay, Minho,” Chan says then, and it's reassuring, Minho knows by his gaze that he’s not lying, “I actually like to talk about it, I guess I never talked about it with someone, I write about it, but talking is much better than singing for no one to hear,” That is also depressing, and Minho doesn’t know what is inside Chan that makes him so light, he seems to carry so much weight on his shoulders, but he’s not miserable. Minho doesn’t understand where the hope comes from. 

“You can always share your songs with me, you have a beautiful voice and you’re an amazing producer,” Minho says it like it’s nothing but Chan giggles, and Minho watches his face get progressively redder, and Minho smiles, “You’re not very good with compliments, are you?” 

“No,” Chan says, and he giggles again, it seems almost like he can’t control himself to stop the giggles, which is the cutest thing ever, he’s used to people that not only know how to take compliments but to brag about them endlessly, himself included. 

“We have something in common,” Minho states then, and Chan seems curious, his eyes get a little more open, and he’s probably piecing it together.

“Which is?” 

“A bunch of things,” Minho says then, “But mostly, we are both very insecure but we express it differently,” Minho says, and Chan looks surprised, Minho is not sure if it is because he said that Chan is insecure or because he admitted that he himself is insecure too, “But you see in me all the things I’m insecure about like qualities, and I see yours as qualities too,” Minho explains, and Chan still looks surprised, “Basically, we’re both blind, but we see each other,” And Chan laughs.

“I always get a little surprised when you compliment me,” Chan says shyly, and as Minho expected, he lets out a small giggle after it, “Because… You’re you and I’m me,” 

“Elaborate on that,” Minho asks then, and Chan looks even more embarrassed, sometimes Minho doesn’t know if he’s inconvenient or if Chan is always that expressive about his emotions, maybe he’s just more sensitive, maybe Minho has a way of stepping on toes, maybe both.

“You’re literally a supermodel, Minho…” He says then, awkwardly and Minho starts frowning, he knows where this is going, “And you are like a person with a bunch of experiences,” He tries to explain, but all of those sound quite wrong. 

“You could easily be a supermodel too, dumbass,” Minho says while rolling his eyes and Chan laughs, denying with his head, “What? You don’t think you’re hot?” Chan scratches the back of his head, clearly, on his expression, he doesn’t think he’s hot. Minho finds it offending. 

“It’s not like that, I’m not unhot, but I’m quite… normal?” Chan says, he keeps trying to explain a point that is not going to settle with Minho at all, and Minho makes sure his face screams that

“I call bullshit!” Minho sounds a little too enthusiastic, and Chan gets startled, which makes him look adorable, “I don’t do compliments often, so I need you to believe completely what I’m saying and make it sink in, can you do that?” Minho asks then, and Chan frowns and pouts, but then, he nods. 

“You’re beautiful, you absolute blind dumbass,” Minho says, once again too overly enthusiastic, Chan just looks at him with a soft and embarrassed gaze, “The lines of your face are sculpted by gods, you have the perfect mixture of cuteness and hotness, and your body is literally perfect, I would beat your ass if that would make you realize that,” And the point is made, so Minho can breathe again. 

“Thank you,” Chan says then, and it sounds extremely soft, his tone is like he’s almost moved by those words, and from Minho’s knowledge about Chan, he might be, “Your compliments mean a lot to me because I know you’re always honest with me,” Chan smiles, largely, and Minho senses that if Chan wasn’t so careful, he would be hugging Minho at the spot.

“Chan, the fact that I have experienced doesn’t make me superior, by the way,” Minho says quietly, “It would be something good if I learned something with them, in which, I clearly don’t,” Chan giggles and Minho smiles at him before moving on from the pool and dragging Chan with him. 

They walk side by side, holding hands, something Minho wouldn’t do with anyone, unless he had to help a child walk from a sidewalk to another, which he also wouldn’t do because Minho has a weird hatred towards children. It’s a touch that used to be something Minho considered a red spot, people weren’t allowed to touch his hands that way, but it seems like most things he used to hate are pleasing to do with Chan. Minho hates how different he is from everyone, how Chan gets a bunch of privileges. 

Minho goes straight to the small seashore, there’s a small wall of dirt, and then under it a bunch of huge rocks, but the sea is so close Minho can smell it, and he doesn't know why he likes the way the sea smells. Minho unlocks hands with Chan, who stands there waiting for something while Minho without a care in the world sits down on the ground, over the green grass. Chan follows him right afterward, their knees are touching, and once again that’s a soft feeling he never experienced.

Falling in love with Chan was controversial, in a way that it's probably something Minho should never have done, and something that broke him down and built him all over again, the bottoms were low and scary, the stakes were always the highest it could ever be. But Minho learned all over again how it is to fall in love, how it is to crave and desire, not on physical levels. The easiest thing for Minho to say is that he’s attracted to Chan, that he wants his body, his touch. The hardest part was always that those moments where they held hands, touching knees, and kissed passionately were the ones that counted as a filler for his needs.

Minho is in constant grief, for something that isn’t dead yet but has a short period of time, it’s like they’re constantly on their deathbed, and as most things feel sweet and good, there’s the grief, the certainty, that it will go away, far up with the wind until it melts down with it, he and Chan will fade away. The good parts will stay as constant reminders of what he lost. 

Minho looks up at the sky, cloudy but there are some slight glimpses of the morning sunshine, the air is thin and the waves are soft, but still there, breaking and breaking. There’s this certainty also, that Minho will never feel like that again, not only because he feels like Chan is an endgame in love for a few couple of years. But because he will never be in a beach house, sitting on the grass, like his life doesn’t weigh heavy over his shoulders. 

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Minho says quietly, and then adjusts his voice by cleaning his throat, but Chan heard it because it’s silent, there’s maybe a few crickets somewhere faraway making white noise, the soft sound of a calm sea and nothing more. There’s nothing inside Minho’s head screaming too. And there’s once another moment he wishes he could be stuck in for a constant loop just for a while, just so he can get bored of the feeling and let go. 

“Thank you for coming, you thought it was a very crazy idea,” He always gets back with a lack of sass that is heartwarming, and Minho smiles at nowhere and anywhere. Like he rarely ever did. 

“It still is, and I can’t believe you spent your small vacation with me,” And it is so crazy that Chan cares that much, because he could go maybe to Australia, he could rest without the chaotic energy of Minho lingering around. But he chose that. 

“Minho, I’ve been spending all my small vacations with you since the day we first met,” Chan says and lets out a giggle that says “Minho you’re so silly” and Minho guesses that’s actually right. Paris, then the day he was free in Seoul, all the days he would get all comfy and stay. He stays. He likes staying. Minho looks to the side, and stares at Chan, holding his weight on his arm, doing a face that his lips are pressed together but pouty, he looks like a cute cartoon. 

“You like staying around me even though I push you away, that I will never wrap my head around,” Minho says then, and Chan locks eyes with him, staring back, glimmering small eyes of his, “I would tell everyone that pushes me away to fuck off,” 

Chan laughs relaxed, they both are, not confined inside a hotel room or an apartment, between walls they cannot break out, there’s not a chance they could get out of those places. But there on Jeju-do, in a place in the middle of nowhere, their shoulders aren’t tense, there’s no extreme tension and anxiety, it’s just both of them sharing the same fresh air, somewhere they can’t be seen. 

“Well, I’m not very well known for giving up, and I never wanted to give up on you,” He says clear as the day as if it’s nothing, just a very Chan way of expressing themselves, “You have your problems, and you’re not the easiest to deal with, but I realized once that you gave up on yourself, and I realized I gave up on myself too,” Did he? Did Chan feel empty too? He might’ve, but picturing Chan miserable, doesn’t feel right, “You’re not easy, you’re a very complex type of puzzle, but I’m very addicted to the way you made me feel hope,”

Minho chuckles, because that’s one of the most beautiful things he ever heard, and because he doesn’t know to react to it, he doesn’t freak out though, he stares at Chan, and smiles, “We have that in common, I just don’t like to accept things, and I stretch everything out to ignore it, but it was a rocky way,” Minho says. 

“It’s always going to be, but you can always do it, I never thought you were a lost cause, I just thought you tried your absolute best to seem like it,” Minho chuckles again, will someone ever try again? Will someone ever try to break down his walls, to bring him closer? Is he worth the time? Those things are unanswered, but Chan does make him feel hope. Hope that someday he will be bearable, even though he hates to imagine a healthy version of himself. You get so used to being broken, you get so used to being empty, that getting better sounds like a different person, someone who doesn’t have the strength. 

“You’re very much of a devil’s advocate, but those who try finding the good parts,” Minho says, and then he bends his head to the side focusing on every detail of him, something he always did, always, “I’m sorry I was so difficult, but there’s no way of making our situation easy, there’s this constant grief of knowing it will end,” 

“I don’t like griefing, I was never the type to do so. I feel hopeless, I don’t think there’s a way of not feeling hopeless, but I wanted the moments to count, to stay, so I could remember you,” Chan says, and he sighs quietly, “I choose this because I wanted to be with you and make the moments count more, so there’s less grief when it goes away,” 

“You have such a pure of dealing with things, thank you for sharing those with me always, maybe someday I will understand,” Minho says and there’s a slight bit of hope there that is needed, Minho knows his life will spiral down when it’s over, there’s no other way of dealing with it, but he’s the one to choose, to stay there griefing forever or to be better, even the slightest. 

“I think you understand it much better now than in the beginning, one thing is to accept your faith, which you do too majestically,” Chan says and Minho laughs, because it’s true and because Chan knows him, and there’s an answer, and Minho hears the answer slip out of Chan’s lips right after, “But another thing is to accept closeness, and help, in which you always fail majestically too,” And Minho laughs again. 

“Well, I learned to kill my demons with no support, and that became acceptance,” Minho says then, and it feels like a type of therapy he never got close to getting, “But I never allowed anyone good in, I tend to choose the worst possible new people,” And Minho always did, seeking in someone he looked up to or desired that small bit of affection he lacked, but when it was not given, he became against that idea. Before Chan crashed into his life like a reverse hurricane, that starts with everything spiraling and breaking to end as the old picture. 

“Not to brag, but also doing a self brag to you, you allowed me in, you should be proud… I’m not the best but-“

“You’re much better than anything I ever allowed to come in,” Minho finishes for him, and Chan just grins softly, there’s support inside of that gaze, he seems proud of Minho, not because he got a big part of an award, but because he improved as a person. As just Minho. Nothing important to the world, but something important to him. Minho gave to the world but never got anything back other than praise that lasts for a few minutes. 

“I’m very lucky you only choose weird people because I get to be the best,” Chan jokes and Minho giggles at him, Minho tends to have bad taste on people, because he chooses those who are similar to him, and it’s a weird kind of self diss when he realizes he only kept people that looked and felt like him. 

“But you’re indeed very good, like, sometimes I get very shocked with the way you are,” Minho says, Chan has this innocent vibe, he’s old enough to be wise, but not old enough to be mean. And Minho hopes he never changes. 

“Thank you, I try my best at being good,” Chan says, and Minho just smiles at him.

“It works, I realize that you try your best at everything, I’m really glad you do, I wished so much for you to give up on me, hate me, tell me that everything you felt for me was a lie,” Minho still sometimes does, because his self-sabotage behaviors will never leave, “And you never did,” 

“I won’t do it, even if we end very badly, I would never hate you, and I would never lie,” Chan says, and Minho stares at him, it’s weird for Minho not to hate someone even if they’re bad, Minho is much quicker to hate than he is to love, much, much, quicker. 

“I would never hate you too, I really tried, but I couldn’t help myself at all,” And Minho tried, but he could never give Chan the blame and hate him for that, for he is too self-aware to ever do that, he couldn’t convince his head that Chan was ever mean spirited, because he never was. 

Minho looks up at the sky, birds are dancing on the day sky, and Minho gets a sudden memory, it’s a little bit distant still, most of Minho’s past is a bunch of blurred and disconnected memories, everything seems like it was lived in a different existence, coming back only in moments that it matters, and even on those, still quite blurred. Minho thinks he was about 10 years old, he was long away from anything he is today, Minho met the sea more than once in his life, and he remembers specifically not being too surprised by the sea, it seemed like a bunch of water. But when Minho saw the birds, long up in the sky, flying over the infinity, Minho envied them, their freedom, those birds could go anywhere they wanted, they’re not doomed to be stuck in a single bad place for a while. Minho remembers asking whoever was in charge of the future that one day he could be a bird, and fly away. 

Minho found freedom, he was once a child wanting to fly, and then soon to be a bird, who chose all the wrong paths. It seems like it doesn’t matter if you’re free if you choose to fly to the wrong place. Freedom is as scary as being held captive, because once you’re free, you never know where you’re heading, and the world is scary and huge, and there’s nothing that makes you more lost than the freedom you have, Minho wishes now as an adult not to be free as a bird, but to know where he should go. It seems like there’s no easy way of living, and sometimes he wishes he could be a kid again for a day, and thinks that everything will settle into place eventually. 

He looks to the side and sees Chan, and his face, and his glimmering eyes, and he asks himself if Chan at this point in life wishes to be a bird too, so he could be free and choose his path, and maybe this trip, this relationship is his own way of flying even though he’s still being held captive. Minho wants to cry, thinking that himself might be the only thing freeing about Chan’s life, and he’s too afraid to ask if it is, even though it’s quite obvious at this point. 

“Chan, are you happy?” Minho ends up asking because he wants to know, he wants to be aware of Chan’s feelings, scary thing to do, care so much about how someone feels, Minho a bird so reckless and so lost, so unaware of his surroundings by choice, to finally feel like caring. It’s important though because Chan is someone in his life who gives meaning to his constant flying and flying and going nowhere. 

“Yes,” He says and it's quick and simple, with not much thought into it. Minho wishes someday to not hesitate when someone asks if he’s happy or not.

“Not right now, in life,” Minho asks, he wants something more concrete, something much much more concrete. Minho wouldn’t know how to answer that though, not right now or about life in general, he’s always a slight bit miserable, it’s just how he works, there’s not a second of his living that something isn’t lingering. Chan makes his pouty face, to think, and his eyebrows have now frowned.

“I’m not unhappy, I don’t feel like I’m depressed or sad… Just a bit disappointed, and frustrated,” Chan says, and Minho mouths an “Oh” because for the first time it seems like something Chan is saying is more relatable, it makes sense to Minho too, of course, he’s a little too overdramatic about his feelings, but he feels that way too, not particularly anything, “But I think no one is happy, we think that happiness is the main goal, but until we will never feel fulfilled,”

“You’re much wiser than you think you are,” Minho says simply because it’s real. Chan seems so nonchalant about his intelligence, the way he views the world, the way he acts, and the choices he made for the greater good, which shouldn’t be a thing, Minho wants to leave Chan a more confident version of himself, before vanishing, “I agree, I thought I would be happy when I became a model when I was free and had my recognition, but things aren’t that simple,”

“Everything is complicated, and we tend to complicate them even more, it’s one of the curses of humankind,” Minho nods. He over complicates almost everything in his life, this situation included, he made it worse than it actually is, and he’s glad he chose to give himself this chance of being there right now, so it feels a little more simple. 

“Are you hungry?” Minho asks then, he’s quite tired of thinking about life, it seems like Chan and nature really get to his head, it’s almost impossible to be a little freer spirited when he’s connected to everything with depth, when everything seems like a metaphor, like a representation of small pieces of life.

“Yep, I think it’s almost time for lunch actually,” Chan replies, and Minho had completely forgotten about the time, but his stomach is definitely reminding him what time it is, even though his eating habits are all over the place, his body still knows. 

“I’m going to show you my cooking skills, you’re going to cry that you cannot marry me,” Chan says enthusiastically, and Minho laughs at him. Chan gets up quickly, and Minho goes right after, Chan doesn’t give Minho his hand, and Minho is definitely not asking for it or starting it himself, but he does miss that.

“I can’t wait, Chef,” Minho says, while following Chan inside the huge house that was completely ignored by both of them, Minho would think that the material part would be more important a few years back, but he gives the rest of it more importance right now, he’s way too tired of pretty buildings. 

The house is very modern, as expected, probably it was recently made, Chan deals with buildings, after all, getting places like this is literally his job, even though Minho cannot imagine Chan looking at houses and building projects for a living. It really doesn’t suit him, neither the way he looks or his personality, and Minho never asked much about what Chan does, and even though Minho has a quite exciting job that everyone wants to know about, Chan never asked too. They both know the bare minimum of their professional lives and know way too much about the personal, and that’s something worth thinking about because the problem between them is exactly their professional images. 

Chan starts taking things out of the counters and the fridge and Minho sits on a rotatable chair in this American type kitchen, watching him as he goes, he looks quite cute. Grabbing stuff and taking looks at it while pouting, Minho never imagined that scenario either, Chan just grabbing stuff to cook for him, it felt and feels like something outside of their relationship, too domestic. It’s a little awkward, Minho thinks, not because of the situation, but because it's unusual. 

“What are you going to make us?” Minho asks then, and Chan looks at him and gives him a subtle grin, Minho wants to punch his adorable face. Because every time he grins Minho sees the dimples. It’s weird that Chan is buff as hell, with a sharp jawline, all those stuff that are considered hot, but Minho cares about his glimmering eyes and the two deep dimples on his cheeks. 

“Well, we don’t talk much about the things we like to eat, but I assume everyone likes pasta right?” Chan says a little bit concerned, and Minho just nods at him, “Good! I’m making a bolognese, not the original way because Italian people made it too complicated,” Minho laughs at him.

“I’m not into culinary so for me, tasting good I wouldn’t know if it’s the real deal or not,” Minho says and Chan nods.

“Honestly, I’m not into actual culinary, but I don’t like to pay someone to cook for me so I learned some things, and I don’t have a lot of time to cook but it’s quite therapeutic,” That Minho wouldn’t know, he likes to order delivery and eat instant noodles, he’s completely clueless to the art of cooking or baking, maybe someday he might try. Actually, it is a good thing to do, now that he has a chance.

“Do you want any help?” Minho asks and he kind of feels a little embarrassed later, it’s awkward for him, those domestic things, makes him weirdly uneasy, but it wouldn’t be fair to make Chan do all the cooking, he’s already paying for everything. And those are the excuses for Minho’s question. 

“That would be useful,” Chan says then, and he sounds very soft, he’s so naturally comfortable with that it’s almost something Minho envies, “The cutting honestly takes all my time, so we can do it together,” He sounds actually pretty glad to do that with someone and Minho almost smiles, it’s such a simple thing in life. And it seems like both of them were deprived of those things.

Minho gets up and joins Chan on the other side of the kitchen, and Chan goes to the fridge to get some vegetables, and he puts onions and tomatoes on the counter. He passes by Minho to clean them up, and Minho watches as he carefully washes them, and then he peels the onions and washes them even peeled and Minho has no absolute clue why. 

“Since I’m making you in charge of my main enemy, the onions, they say that being frozen and also cleaning in cold water helps, so you won’t cry,” Minho wants to laugh at how dumb Chan sounds, and also how cute it is that he pouts while explaining, “I’m sorry to give you them, but it’s easier to cut than the tomatoes,” And Minho just denies with his head because it’s not much of a big deal. 

Chan grabs the cutting boards from underneath the counter and two very professional - It seems - knives. Minho has no absolute clue of what he’s doing after the onions are in front of him and he’s holding a very sharp knife, and he tries to calculate how it works, and ends up just cutting them in half, not knowing where to go, “How do you want me to cut them?” Minho asks then, not that he really knows how to cut them in specific sizes, he just needs to know at least that.

“Cubes,” Chan says then, and he drops his knife on the cutting board and gets closer to Minho who looks at him quite startled, that is indeed quite awkward for him, and it’s awkward to even think that just cooking makes him that uncomfortable, “Make small slices along the top of it and then cut it horizontally and it will naturally be diced,” He says then, and it’s quite casual, just a tip, but Minho feels like blushing. It's hella weird.

Minho nods and follows what Chan says, his eyes do get irritated but not so much. When he's done with one onion that he focused a lot on he looks at Chan, the tomatoes perfectly sliced into cubes, and he’s taking out grounded beef from a package, so Minho tries speeding out a little. His onions don’t look terrible, just a bit uneven, and that is not a problem he thinks. Chan looks at him and smiles, a kind demonstration, and Minho is happy to see him smile. 

“Much better than my first time, to be honest,” He says then and it’s just too casual it almost drives Minho crazy, and he’s staring at Chan feeling like a fish out of water, Chan gets the cutting board and puts the onions on a pan on the stove, and a bit of oil and Minho just stares at him, he puts garlic that Minho didn’t even saw him cut in small pieces, and with the jeotgarak, he mixes it around while a small frizzing sound gets out, “This takes a little while, can you put the water to boil for me?” Chan asks and Minho nods.

“Finally something I’m an expert on,” Minho says to lighten the mood that is already light but seems extremely heavy for him and his awkwardness and discomfort from being too out of his comfort zone, something he knew would happen, because of course things out of his comfort zone would happen, the whole concept of a trip is out of his comfort zone. Chan just simply laughs, because for him it’s a simple joke. Minho does what it was asked, putting the water to a boil. And now he doesn’t have much to do so, Minho stays still watching Chan cook, feeling very weird inside. Chan does things naturally like he was made for it, and Minho hates that he doesn’t know how to behave in those situations at all. 

Minho watches Chan carefully, how his eyebrows are frowned upon to concentrate, how he looks up and mumbles things for himself, while carefully cooking for Minho. He watches how his jawline is more apparent when he’s focused, and he seems less relaxed, probably he wants to do a better job for Minho. It’s such an odd thing to imagine, not that it isn't something that Chan would do, actually, it’s horribly on-brand for him, the way he tries to impress Minho or make Minho pleased and happy, he goes out of his way to do so actually, which honestly he doesn’t have to do, because Minho is unable to feel something bad towards the person that Chan is, because he is already impressive, with or without those things he really tries on doing. It’s odd because Minho doesn’t need all of that care, it’s odd because Minho doesn’t feel like he deserves all that care, and because even though he saw that on Chan before, he always wants to believe that’s not actually what is happening, Minho wants to imagine a world where Chan is not trying so much for him because it makes him feel extremely guilty.

Chan leaves the stove for a moment, backing away from it, probably because it’s needed, Minho has no absolute clue of what is happening right now, he’s very very clueless with cooking. When Minho looks at him, he’s watching Minho too, there are two bite marks on the bottom of his lip, Minho didn’t even realize Chan was biting them while cooking. And as always it’s quick, it’s like two magnets, if they’re distant it just takes a few steps to be fully connected, until they attract. Chan’s lips are always soft, always plumpy, and he always tastes good, and he always smells good, and every single time they lock lips, every single time Chan opens his mouth and Minho can go deeper, Minho silently wishes to never stop, to stay there forever, it seems like that feeling is more constant than it was before, it applies to more situations than just that one. 

It’s almost like an addiction, but it stopped being physical, it got less and less physical with time, Minho used to miss how Chan’s lips are heaven and how his scent was intoxicating, and now Minho misses Chan’s presence the most, his voice, his mannerisms, the way he is in general. It’s deeper than addiction is dependence. It’s not physical but mental, there’s a need for Chan as his light, and it’s no more an obsession, it’s a need, and the word passion isn’t there anymore. All the moments he wishes he could stop in time don’t consist only of the moments he’s filling his craving for Chan’s warmth, Minho wishes to be locked in a loop of them sitting by the sea, the day that Chan held him to sleep, Chan simply cooking a meal, too concentrated because he wants it to be good.

Chan runs his hands through Minho’s body and has a very tight grip on his waist almost like he’s claiming as his, and Minho really wishes for a split of a second that Chan would claim Minho as his fully, not only by gestures and marks but the idea of commitment is not only terrifying but impossible. Minho wishes for too many impossible things when he’s with Chan, that’s why Chan is the most dangerous thing he has ever tasted. 

Minho would never stop if it wasn’t for water boiling, Minho would never pull away if it wasn’t needed, he would stay there as long as he possibly could, tasting Chan’s mouth, feeling his hands, his warmth. All things good don’t last very long, it seems. When they unlock their lips Minho stares at Chan’s face and he’s flushed, so without even thinking a lot about it, Minho leans in and kisses Chan’s nose, and Chan giggles. 

They both go their own ways, Chan goes back to cooking while pouting and Minho goes back to his side, watching his facial expressions, and after a while, there’s a good smell from the sauce Chan made from sketch around the kitchen, he’s a good cook, and he’s a cute cook too. There’s a huge dining table but Chan puts the plates on the counter with the rotating chairs, two red plates, right next to each other. 

Minho doesn’t realize the magic of mixing the pasta with the sauce because he was watching Chan’s arms and hands, and sometimes focusing on his concentrated pout, when everything seems done, he puts the pasta on the plate and when Minho is moving to the other side of the kitchen to eat, Chan stops him.

“There’s the plating,” He says and Minho raises his eyebrow at Chan, not quite sure of what he’s saying, “Have you ever watched a cooking show?” Chan asks then and Minho scratches the back of his head.

“Well, I’m not very into competition reality shows that don’t involve drama,” Minho says and Chan laughs, Minho’s guilty pleasure as a person is to watch Housewives of Beverly Hills, Celebrity Big Brother - the British one - and Dance Moms, a guilty pleasure he got from other gay western models. 

“All shows containing Gordon Ramsey have intense drama, Minho, he’s a drama queen,” Chan says, and Minho does an impressed face nodding, he knows who Gordon Ramsey is at least.

“Of course, he’s British,” Minho says then, and Chan seems extremely confused, “There’s something about the accent and the presence of Gemma Collins on that country that makes people very dramatic sounding,” Chan laughs, even though Minho knows Chan doesn’t know who Gemma Collins is, both of them know English, so maybe someday they can watch Gemma’s best moments on British television. Maybe they can watch Gordon Ramsey shows too because Chan seems to like them. 

“My English accent is close to British but Australians sound goofy” And Minho can only agree with him because he watched Housewives of Melbourne and not because he ever heard Chan speak English. He must sound very sexy, even though yes, Australians sound goofy, “So plating, it’s making the food look good, by making the plate look good,” Minho frowns.

“But it gets messy eventually,” He says, and Chan giggles. 

“I know it does, but it’s a part I really like doing, I’m very into aesthetically pleasing food,” Chan says and Minho thinks that’s very cute of him, and he pictures Chan making himself dinner and spending a bunch of time making his own plate look good, which is completely adorable. 

“Do your job, Remy,” Minho says then and Chan smiles at him, going to get the plates, and Minho watches him doing the plating thing, he arranges the pasta so it looks well organized on the plate, and throws a little bit more sauce over it to give it a better look too, a bit of cheese that was finely grated and what seems to be some kind of parsley to top it off, it’s a beautiful plate like it's from some Italian restaurant but something about it makes Minho weirdly homesick, it shows that it’s executed professionally but it has a little bit more heart to it, and it’s so warm that Minho almost feels the urge to breakdown crying since that’s the most common reaction he expresses by being overwhelmed with any good or bad feeling. Minho used to be a tough cookie, he used to bottle up, but someday between the first day, he meets Chan, and the third time he did that the cup that was once half empty and not full, overflowed. 

And then it’s all done and Chan makes his way to the rotatable chair and Minho sits right beside him, they’re close enough to feel each other’s presence but not to restrict them to eat, and Minho feels almost guilty of ruining the beautiful craft of Chan’s quite perfectionist cooking. But he sees the boy mixing his pasta around like he wasn’t the one who did the work, to begin with, and Minho just follows him. It’s quite the only thing he has done since he entered the building, following Chan around and his orders, like a robot. 

He does feel like a robot at that point because Minho doesn’t know how to single-handedly handle that situation, or how to behave, it’s almost like he’s being controlled by a computer that only copies other behavior codes. He feels a weird disconnection from his body before he can actually eat, Minho knew he would feel unusual coming to this situation but he didn’t think it would be that dissociating for him to do so. Minho blinks forcefully and repeatedly, and tells his brain, just eat, it’s food you just need to eat. 

And he does so, he sighs on the inside, because the sound would grab Chan’s attention to him, which would make this a lot more difficult. Minho gets a bit of pasta and finally tastes it and Chan of course, unable to have big flaws, has amazing hands when cooking, he realizes Chan is looking at him while Minho chews, which makes him panic slightly, but he just looks at Chan and pulls his thumb, doing him an okay sign, for which Chan smiles. Minho feels terrible, absolutely terrible, it feels at that moment that he’s falling from the sky, and it’s terrifying, being laid on a cloud-like we imagine as kids, fluffy, like cotton, and with a small moment, it’s all over, and the clouds are only gas again. And there Minho goes, spiraling down, the saying of good things don’t last longer is exceptionally right when it comes to Minho.

He feels light-headed, but his brain is struggling to keep him normal, his hand is a little shaky when he proceeds to take another bite, it’s so fucking good and Minho wishes for a moment that he could just enjoy a meal normally, especially this one, made with so much care and made so well. But there comes the problem, on that exact statement, it was made with love. Minho feels dumb, he feels insane, for being completely shaken up to a point that it’s physical because of such thing, but his brain cannot process the way Chan cares, his brain cannot process the idea that someone thought he deserved, and the thought that he has something with someone that is special. Not only that but Minho works with things he’s used with, Minho is not exactly someone who has comfortable domestic moments, those freak him out. Comfort zones are things that are unbreakable to Minho. This trip has almost all elements considered out of it. 

Minho tries to eat a little faster so he can space out for a while, and his whole body feels confused, his brain makes his heartache in a deep kind of agony, his head is a little lighter than the rest of his body as a result of that, which makes his hands slowly numb, Minho knows all of those symptoms well but he holds on to the feeling of his stomach getting fuller, he just has to eat that one plate and then he’s free. He can find somewhere else to be for a while, and it tastes good which is at best a little comforting. 

It takes him a lot of concentration to get through the eating part, but he does it quickly enough, so after a few minutes, probably about five Minho finally finishes his plate, and it’s downhill from there, Minho gets up, and it’s quite sudden because Chan who seemed to have spaced out while eating gets startled. Chan looks at him with big eyes, and Minho doesn’t know why Chan’s gaze makes his heartache, it’s a strong string of pain that hits his heart, almost like someone squished it. 

His whole body starts to react again, something he tried to hold inside getting out slowly, his chest has this sharp pressure on it, his hands start to get numb again, and he’s lightheaded again, and it comes in waves, the numbness goes from his hands to his wrists and forearms, and then it goes to his nose and temples. It’s panic. His whole nervous system starts to fail him again. And it seems like minutes but it’s seconds, it’s just that the world goes in slow motion.

When Minho’s breath gets a little more rapid and a little bit more difficult to manage, Minho starts walking towards the glass doors that lead to the backyard, “Minho?” Chan says, and that seems so distant, and it makes Minho feel more of the desperation. Midway to get outside his breathing gets loud, and now it’s uncontrollable, Minho is just gasping into the air, but it seems like his lungs never get filled. 

Hands shaky and filled with unease touch the glass door, opening it a little bit more, and Minho has lost one of his senses because he can’t feel the door, just the pain of his numb and tingly palms touching a hard surface. Minho looks forward, and his heart starts racing, agony being almost unbearable and when the panic attack gets too heavy for him Minho starts sobbing. When his cheeks get very wet, Minho runs, and he doesn’t run for too long because he throws himself into the pool. 

There’s a loud noise, and then coldness, his whole body is embraced with the coldness of the water, and Minho cannot listen to anything anymore, his hearing gets blurred, it’s like there’s only white noise inside of his brain, he opens his eyes and there’s only blue, so Minho closes them again, while his body goes deeper inside. It’s like a cold hug, and the tears he used to have on his cheeks just melt with the water around him. The pressure made him feel embraced. 

The world is in slow motion, something he feels often under stress, it runs slowly, it’s like every second his body only gets an inch deeper, and he doesn’t feel the weight of not breathing, because those small seconds underwater seem to be longer than they actually are. Minho keeps crying and he never thought it was possible to cry underwater. 

It’s quick that when crying underwater shows its dangers, which means Minho cannot hold his breath anymore and water goes through his nose, Minho is about to accept, which is weird, a stuffy sound can be heard. Minho opens his eyes while his hands hold his throat he sees something other than blue. And Minho is held, and as soon as he’s held the blurriness is gone, Minho can hear the noises of the water and he can see his surroundings. 

He starts coughing right away, and from coughing he goes to crying again, not quite sure what is happening. He realizes after a few seconds that it was Chan and that Chan brought him back to the surface, Chan is holding him very tightly and he’s very out of breath and very wet. Minho just drops his head on Chan’s wet shoulder. And now that his head is out of the water he can feel his clothing sticking to his body, and how heavy it is, he can feel his hair sticking to his forehead and tiny drops of water run from his hair to the tip of his nose, blending with some of the tears that go out too. 

“What the fuck just happened?” Chan asks and his tone is extremely shaky and scared, surprised, it’s a mix of emotions. And it’s quite obvious after a while for Minho that Chan is crying too, and Minho gets desperate, the guilty making his throat clogged. 

Minho doesn’t want to look up, he doesn’t want Chan to see his face and he doesn’t want to see Chan either, to face his gaze, to face his tears, it would make things worse, “I don’t know I just wanted things to stop,” 

“You scared… the shit out of me,” And his voice cracks, Chan starts to sob, and that’s the scariest situation Minho has ever experienced around Chan, he’s not scared of looking at Chan’s face anymore, that fear is far behind, the shame doesn’t bother him anymore. Minho puts his head up and looks at Chan. Chan is always unapologetic it seems, he doesn’t care, his face is completely curled up while he bites his upper lip, Chan’s hair is all wet falling over his closed eyes, his face is all red, probably because he’s crying. Minho’s heartaches differently and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands or what to say, it’s just despair, he’s usually the one crying. 

It makes a lot of subtle noise Minho moving his arms out of the water to hold both of Chan’s cheeks, and Chan lets out a small whine when he feels the touch, Minho is looking at him completely wide-eyed, he feels like he made a child cry on the street or something, he would care less about the child, “Chan, I’m sorry,” Chan just keeps crying, “I’m so sorry, Chan” And then Minho is crying too, and there’s sobbing everywhere. All melting with the pool water, and Minho only differentiates the drops from his hair and the one from his tears because his hair is leaking red dye. 

“Never,” There’s a slight hiccup that interrupts him, “Never do this again,” And it's so utterly heartbreaking, the way his voice is cracked, his face all curled up, Chan is too pretty to cry like that, too good to cry like that, and Minho feels terrible for scaring him, for making him sad and desperate, and the only thing he can do about it to express is to cry too and hold his cheeks as his life depends on it.

“I won’t,” Minho says then and he says it loudly “I promise, I promise I won’t do it again,” He pets Chan’s cheek, brushing away what could be tears but could be water, maybe both combined, Minho doesn’t care, he just needs to see Chan, okay, to see Chan smiling, because anything other than that aches, lingers, almost unbearably.

“Why?” His voice cracks again, and Minhp sighs painfully, that’s quite hard to explain but Minho did it didn’t he… He now has to figure that out. Minho leans in and kisses the tip of Chan’s nose, and Chan opens his eyes, and they’re staring at each other, Chan’s eyes glimmer still, but with tears, and the faded red when it’s supposed to be white crushes Minho’s insides.

“Let’s get out of this pool first, baby,” Minho almost doesn’t realize that he said that with the sweetest of tones, and used a pet name he never used to anyone. Almost. Chan nods. He seems a little shocked still, maybe it was really bad for him to see, Minho doesn’t know how to imagine what Chan saw, it seems very weird to imagine what Chan actually saw because Minho’s brain already made it blurry to remember. He hates that weird amnesia that happens before something goes down killing a memory but decides to appear back to life when it’s less needed. 

They let each other’s bodies go, and Minho swims a little forward getting to the small stair, and when he looks to his side, Chan manages to get out of the pool by his strength, Minho would use very well if he had those arms too, but he has always been petit. Chan sits down on the border of the pool, with his feet still inside the water, and he looks forward while a hundred drops of water fall out of his clothing. Minho struggles a tiny bit to get completely to the surface because his clothes are weighty, but he manages to sit down right beside Chan, he looks forward too, the sun is dancing between the clouds that move slowly, and the water of the sea reflects under sunlight, making tiny sparkles just like inside Chan’s eyes. Minho will probably never look at sparkles and stars the same way. 

“Did I do something?” He sounds worried, frustrated, with every right to be, Minho would be punching his own head if it wouldn’t make Chan startled again.

“Of course you didn’t,” Minho says resentfully, it aches inside the thought that Chan would think any of that was his fault, when all he did was being good, “The only thing you did do is a delicious plate of pasta,” It’s an attempt of lightening the mood that flies right over Chan’s head, which is very, very, understandable, “I’m sorry, I just can’t handle stupid things, and my brain really overreacted,” This is the best explanation he can give now, and Chan looks at him, Minho looks back, and Chan’s eyes are unreadable.

“What were you planning to do?” It sounds harsher than most of the tones Chan uses, and Minho gets instantly nervous, swinging his feet inside the water and breaking eye contact to look at them. 

“I don’t know,” Honesty, if Minho only knew what he’s planning to do when those things happen, it would be a lot easier to avoid, to explode differently, if Minho only knew something, a small detail that he might be missing all those years, “I just wanted it to stop,” And it worked, until Minho realized he was going to drown literally and not only inside his thoughts. 

“What did you want to stop?” Now it’s not harsh again, it’s concern mended with a ton of frustration, Minho hates to the core the way he can never have something good without ruining it, and that almost every time he sees the person who makes him the happiest or calls him, all he can bring to the table is terrible feelings and pain. Minho hates that when the hurricanes and thunderstorms arrive he’s not the only one spinning around on air, he brings houses and people with them, leaving more than just self-destruction. 

“The thoughts, the panic, I just went for the easiest way out,” He drops his head a little bit more, “As I always do,” 

“The easiest out for you was drowning yourself in a swimming pool?” And it’s sad because that’s exactly it when Minho breaks down he chooses to escape, even though they might end being even more painful to him than the actual feeling. It was once running away, running until his legs would give out and he would have a replacement for the aching inside, then it was sex, then people, then cocaine, then it was blades, alcohol, and now, well, a swimming pool. 

“Yes” Simple.

“Why don’t you ask for help?” The genuine tone of someone who means well, Chan makes Minho more insane than he actually is, “I can try to help you, I had panic attacks before, stop hurting yourself to stop hurting it doesn’t work,” It worked for a long time, a very long time, the seasons just changed, Minho is just tired, Minho wants to live but doesn’t want to exist. 

“I can’t, I just can’t ask, or say, it makes it worse, acknowledging makes it so much worse,” Minho sometimes wishes he could live running, running and running, away from everything, the dumb movie Chan likes, Forest Gump, one day Minho wants to start running and do it for years until something feels right and he can finally come back. 

“If you never do it will never stop,” Chan puts his hand on Minho’s thigh and gives it a little squeeze, Minho looks at him again, and his eyes are calmer and it brings so much relief Minho almost wants to cry again, “I used to isolate myself when the panic attacks happened, it only got better when I got help, I take a bunch of medication because of it,” Minho frowns.

“You never told me about it,” 

“We never got to the subject,” It’s casual but it makes Minho a little uncomfortable. 

“I feel like we only talk about me, I’m so sorry, I really want to know about you,” Minho sighs and closes his eyes, “I wish I could know everything about you, everything that you like and dislike, everything,” When Minho opens his eyes, Chan is smiling.

“I don’t mind talking about you, you’re very interesting,” It should be a crime the way Chan doesn’t care about himself, the way he puts Minho first, and Minho would like to punch that way of thinking out of him, “Music and summer,”

“What?” Chan giggles.

“Likes and dislikes,” He notes and Minho ends up smiling back. 

“That’s it?” Minho says, “Also, I thought you were a summer person,”

“I mean, there’s a bunch of things but those are the ones I feel more strongly about,” Chan is out of Minho’s planed, maybe because he doesn’t have his head up his own ass, but Minho feels strongly about everything, and most of the people he knows too, “Nah, Australia was really really sunny and I have sensitive skin,” Minho grins, “Why do you assume that?”

“You seem like a person with sensitive skin and asthma, that’s very stereotypical but you do,” Chan giggles, “Because you’re a sunny and warm person,”

“Like every nerd character in history?” Chan asks playfully and Minho nods still grinning, “I hate to admit that you’re right, but I don’t need an inhaler, at least,” Minho laughs, of course, Chan fits in too many stereotypes, he’s almost too good to be real, “That’s exactly why I don’t like summer, I’m naturally warm like a twilight werewolf and I tend to enjoy things that are my complete opposite,” 

“Another reason for your insanity towards me, I’m cold like a twilight vampire and definitely your opposite,” Chan nods, “I also glow in the sun, but it’s not my tell for being a vampire, I just have really good skin,”

“You actually do, and I’m deeply jealous,” Minho frowns, “Also, are you a vampire person? I think it’s my guilty pleasure, and it used to be my nickname too,” 

“Why are you jealous your skin is flawless and soft like a blanket,” Oh, his skin is so so soft, Minho recalls touching it for the first time, every inch of Chan’s body is incredible, “I’m more of a villainfucker than a monsterfucker, and why was it your nickname?”

“I thank the 3 years of Accutane for that, it made my asthma a little worse but it saved my back,” Minho has a huge difficulty imagining a teenager Chan having his asthma problems and taking medicine for acne, it’s just so incredibly normal it feels almost unreal, “That is most fitting for you, also I’m not a monsterfucker, I’m a fangerbanger, respect me,” Minho laughs, “The nickname is because I was cold, mysterious and very, very sexy,” Minho raises one eyebrow, and Chan giggles, “It was because I was extremely pale and a fast runner,” He admits. And Minho laughs again. 

“Teenager you seem fun, you were such a loser in the best way possible,” Chan lets out a shocked laugh.

“What is the best way of being a loser, Lee Minho?” Minho smiles.

“Losers are extremely cute, I would have a huge crush on you vampire swimmer that takes a bunch of Accutane,” Chan laughs and there’s a slight blush on his cheeks, Minho always forgets that this laid back individual with a lot of nerve actually gets shy and flushed when Minho compliments him. 

“You were really going to make the loser and popular trope be real,” Chan says while smiling, “We could’ve been a hot ass couple,” And that makes Minho slight sad, imagining them without responsibilities just a loser and the rich kid having fun and giving each other sweet and gay awakening kisses. Minho wants the whole thing of different dimensions to be real so he could live in one that he and Chan are another dumb teenager couple that might break up before college or ends up being an endgame. 

“We are a hot ass non-couple though,” Chan looks at him with an interesting gaze, “We are the type that girls would say it’s a waste for being both homossexuals,” And Chan bursts out of laughter, with a cute flush on his cheek. And then they’re silent again. Chan moves his feet inside the water too, looking at them while doing it. 

“Did you see what just happened?” Chan asks out of the blue and Minho loses the attention of watching their feet dancing inside blue water to look at Chan, who looks back.

“What?” 

“You were feeling very terrible a few moments ago, and now you’re laughing and joking around,” Chan says and Minho frowns, “I think acknowledging doesn’t make it worse, it gives you a get way into a conversation that might end being quite distracting,” Minho smiles at him, genuinely, and there are words on the tip of his tongue, that he would never have the nerve to say. 

Chan invites Minho to take a shower right after they stay a little bit more time just playing with their feet inside the water, and that is very welcomed because they’re filled with chloride from the pull and soaking wet, and the last thing Minho wants is to get sick on his vacation. Before they go Minho remembers he hasn’t even told his manager that he was on vacation, so he sends a text, “Not in Seoul for 3 days, leave me alone until I come back”, very heartwarming. Minho walks behind Chan again until they get into the master bedroom, and the place is not only huge but has a balcony and a bed that could fit very easily about 8 people. Chan really always thinks of Minho’s best interests. 

“I forgot to get your bag,” Chan says when they get inside the room, and Minho denies it with his head. 

“It’s okay I can borrow something from you,” Minho says unbothered, and he finds the bathroom door with his eyes, and when he steps on the different floor, it’s already safe to get rid of his wet and sticking clothes, that now are a pain in the ass, Minho takes off his shirt and starts opening his jeans, but the lack of movement on the room is odd, Minho looks over his shoulder and Chan is standing where Minho left him, completely frozen in place, staring at Minho’s body, Minho grins, “You’re not joining?” 

Minh almost laughs because Chan is really caught by surprise and it’s not only clear on his expression, wide-eyed, and surprised and his mannerisms, the way his body got stiff, “You want me to join?” He asks then, the tone very much surprised.

“Is there another person here with us to join?” Chan lets out one of those almost laugh noises.

“No,” He says.

“Then get your ass over here, dumbass” 

Minho is already starting his shower when Chan finally finishes getting undressed, the water is very hot, and Minho likes it like that, he didn’t realize he was cold until the hot water hit his chest, and it was a very top tier pleasing sensation, Minho just enjoys it for a while, and it seems almost like destiny that the very fancy shower they have is big enough for two. And thinking about that, there are some space free Minho notices. So he looks over his shoulder, to look at Chan that has stepped into the shower part but it’s just standing there just like before. And now Minho does laugh.

“Does this make you embarrassed?” He asks, and he’s not even saying it in a tone that is making fun of Chan at all, it’s just so special how he’s easily embarrassed, he’s very much precious. 

“Fuck you, but yes,” Chan says and Minho laughs again, Chan looks like he got caught doing something bad, he has a suspicious expression.  
“You’re so fucking cute, just get over here,” Minho calls him with his hand, and Chan approaches him calmly, and Minho opens a little bit more space for Chan because he has a fairly wider body. It’s almost surreal how Chan standing in front of him is a deadly gorgeous man, with a bunch of muscles and badass tattoos, but is embarrassed about showering with someone else. 

Chan squeezes himself with Minho under the water, and Chan has an oddly satisfying smell of chlorine and his amazing perfume, and the closeness of his body makes the shower somehow a little bit hotter. Minho looks at Chan in the eyes and then rests both of his hands on Chan’s chest, while water runs down his face. He feels a weird urge to hug Chan, maybe it’s the coziness of the water making his feelings bubble up, maybe it’s because he likes touching Chan, maybe it’s because he needs a hug. And it might be all of the options. So Minho just lays his head over his own hands that are resting on Chan’s chest, the water runs down his back, Chan buries his nose on Minho’s head.

The shower is literally an excuse to cuddle, Minho thinks. There’s no other option, either they cuddle or stay very close or someone has to be out of the shower, showering together is the biggest excuse for cuddling or having a different sexual experience. Minho really likes that idea, it’s like a tiny secret, if someone asks Minho definitely didn’t use showering together as an excuse to be very close and personal to a very naked Chan, it’s just a question of practicality it’s quicker to do it together than separately. 

When it’s a little too much of the cuddling action, Minho moves his head up, and looks at Chan that once again has his curls flatted on his face, Minho really wants to touch Chan’s hair and since that’s the shower of excuses to do stuff he wouldn’t allow himself, Minho searches around for shampoo, and it seems like Chan bought his own. 

“I figured out your secret,” Minho says out of the blue and Chan frowns at him “Your hair is only fluffy and cute because you use specialized shampoo,” And Chan laughs in a relieved matter. 

“You got me there,” Chan says, a little giggly still, “I realized after a few years of swimming with a bunch of chlorine and ironing my hair that if I didn’t I would get bald,” 

“You would look hella funny bald,” Minho says casually to not give out any of his intentions, and he curls his body a little to get the bottle of shampoo that is right beside Chan, and Chan follows his actions with his eyes, “Get your curly head out of the water flow,” Minho orders with a bossy tone, he’s being very subtle and casual about the fact that he’s about to do the most intimate gesture known by man, washing someone’s hair. 

Chan moves his head a little out and Minho fills his palm with Chan’s shampoo, it smells like strawberries which are like heaven. With his free hand, he brushes the hair on Chan’s face back so he won’t get foam on his eyes. Minho has no clue how to wash someone’s hair but he tries it anyway, he rubs one hand on the other and then goes to Chan’s hair, and Chan just looks up with his eyes.

Of course, even after getting inside the pool Chan’s hair is still quite soft, why wouldn’t it be? Minho rubs his hands on the soft and dark curly hair until he feels like it’s all covered with shampoo, and he even pretends it isn’t to touch Chan’s hair a little bit more, and as the needy boy Chan seems to be, he’s enjoying it. Minho bites a small piece of his lip to contain a grin from appearing.

Minho really wants to kiss every single inch of Chan’s face, and that’s the breaking point when he tells Chan to take the shampoo off. Since his bag is still inside the car Minho uses a bit of Chan’s shampoo while he’s taking the foam out. It’s quite cool to wash his own hair now that it is dyed red because all the foam is light pink. When his head is filled with strawberry-scented shampoo Chan is still taking the rest of it off, and while the water washes it all out Minho realizes his curls are a little longer when they’re wet and Chan looks incredibly adorable. 

When Chan is over with his hair, Minho does exactly what Chan did but very much quicker, years and years of intense grooming on itself make him a professional at doing it at any speed. Minho takes out the foam of his head and when he opens his eyes, Chan’s face is very close to his. Well, his plan didn’t work, he still wants to kiss every inch of Chan’s face and he chooses his lips first. 

Chan’s lips are wet and he smells completely like strawberries, it’s a very sweet scent melting around a kiss that isn’t that much of a sweet one. They move out of the water still with their lips glued together and only stop when Minho’s back is pressed against the cold glass, Minho’s hand travel over to the back of Chan’s head, holding his neck and his hair and Chan let’s a very possessive grip on Minho’s waist again. 

He forgets completely that he’s mostly dominant around Chan, he forgets about almost every rule he ever created to make the experience of having sex and intimate moments something cautious and calculated. He doesn’t get nervous about the lack of control, it’s not making him feel trapped and overpowered, because kissing Chan is already being overpowered, and having him is freedom. It’s not much of a coping mechanism anymore, it’s passion.

Chan is sticking on him from the wetness of his body, and Minho is sticking to the glass while his body is getting filled with adrenaline and his senses get a little bit more savage. Chan is all over his body, physically and mentally, and it doesn’t take long for the second excuse to shower together becomes true, and well it takes another serious shower to get them both clean for real.

Minho borrows only a very oversized t-shirt and boxers from Chan, there’s no one around for real which makes him much freer to walk around with his thighs showing. Chan takes a long time to get dressed too, even though when he gets to the balcony where Minho’s sitting, he still looks normal, wearing oversized sweat shorts and a black shirt. His hair is still looking a little longer, a good portion of it is behind Chan’s ears but two long curls are on his face, once they would cover half of his eye and now it’s almost in the middle of his cheek. He looks beautiful, as always. 

“How was it?” Minho asks and reaches for the table in front of him, which contains cigarettes, a light green lighter, and a black ashtray. Chan really does know Minho’s best interests. Chan sits on the chair right beside Minho, and looks a little confused with the question, Minho lights his cigar and handles one and the lighter to Chan who takes it.

“What?” 

“Your first shower with someone experience’,” And Chan lets out a giggle with a cigarette between the corner of his lip, Minho takes a small drag while looking at Chan, who still has a grin while lighting his own.

“Very interesting,” He says suspiciously and Minho smiles with his tongue between his teeth, “Filled with surprises,” 

“Like a box of chocolates,”

“That’s my quote, you called me white for it,” He complains. 

“I’m a hypocrite,” Minho says playfully and Chan smiles at him while smoke leaves his mouth, Minho hates the way he’s beautiful, breathtaking even, it’s highly annoying.

“If you’re that much of a hypocrite, you’re watching it with me,” 

“Are you trying to Netflix and chill with me?” Minho asks with one eyebrow up and Chan giggles.

“There’s no need for that, we have time to watch it fully and then, the chill part,” Minho nods.

“Crazy thing, we have time to watch a 2-hour white people movie together,” And it’s weird, Minho never pictured him and Chan just watching a movie or a tv show together unbothered, he never thought they would have time or intimacy to do that. 

“Now we have! We can also watch Gordon Ramsey shows, I think you’re going to like him,” 

“Because he’s British and dramatic?” 

“Something like that, yes,” 

“What are the show options?” Minho asks casually, it’s such a normal concept but it makes Minho very anxious, as normal as it is, it still is weird to him, just to watch some random show.

“Kitchen Nightmares, he goes to dirty ass restaurants to help them to make it better,” Minho nods, “Hell’s Kitchen, where he yells at contestants for 20 minutes,” 

“I would love to host a show like that,” 

“That’s why you’re going to like him, he yells at people all the time,” Minho giggles, “Master Chef, he screams less on Master Chef but he still does it anyway,” Minho likes Gordon Ramsey without really knowing him, “Hotel Hell, it’s like Kitchen Nightmares but with hotels,” 

“Hotel Hell is going to be fun, no one knows hotels as we do,” Minho recalls all their nights on hotels, from the first to the last time on one, “I mean Gordon must know a little more, but at least we’re going to all be in the same page,” 

“You choose both your fighters on my side, now it’s your turn, what do you want to watch?” Minho frowns, he was never the person to watch a lot of things, because first, he doesn’t have a lot of time, he doesn’t have a lot of patience and he’s very, very, picky with stuff.

“I’m going to make you watch Housewives of Melbourne so you feel a little bit at home,” Minho says and Chan giggles, Minho takes a few seconds to think about a movie, most movies he watches are way too dramatic and romance, and there it is, a part of Minho’s personality he rather pretends it doesn’t exist, “The movie, Hereditary,”

“Isn’t that like a horror movie?” Chan asks, a little apprehensive, and Minho looks at him with a suspicious gaze.

“Why? Are you afraid of horror movies?” Minho asks and Chan frowns at him, and then, smiles.

“Fuck,” He lets out, “Of course I am, aren’t you?” 

“Not quite, but I can’t take jumpscares at all,” 

“At least we can cuddle, so we won’t be scared,”

“Ew!” Minho says, clearly lying. And Chan only smiles. Because he knows, he really knows Minho doesn’t really feel like that, and Minho smiles back, because he really, really likes Chan.

He looks forward to the sea, and the small waves are still breaking against each other and the water is still glimmering under the sunlight, and it brings a bit of relief, knowing that at least will never change. The waves will still break, the sun will still light the day, the moon is still going to light the night. Nothing really changes on the outside, as much as it seems like it will. 

Minho is still scared of changing and realizing things about himself, he’s still scared of someone holding his hand, his cheeks, his heart, and he’s still scared of something as simple as someone cooking for him. But he realizes slowly that as much as that does change things inside of him, the world will still turn, and the waves are going to still break, and the fear of the world turning against him and breaking apart isn’t real, because it won’t. 

He looks at the birds high up in the sky, flying freely, and Minho no longer feels like envying them, it’s an example, a motivation. He’s free to fly, he just has to choose his path, and since the world will never change, there’s always time. It’s never too late. 

Minho is going to fly, to the right path. This is his time to choose. And he chooses… To love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's everyone hanging after this one? Share your thoughts in the comments, I read every single one of them and they make me genuinely more inspired to write, I'm delighted with the amount of kudos and comments we got here, and I never thought I would do this well, thank you so much for your support it means the world to me! Homewrecker has gone a long way not only in quality but quantity and I'm glad that all my work is doing well.
> 
> I also made a little twitter acc where I will talk about my schedules and stuff, it's @bangIino I hope to see you there.
> 
> With love, Rainy!


	9. I don't want kill our time with somebody else (In a city full of lonely people, I just want you all to myself)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hardest part is to enjoy the simplest things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOO! It’s teorema from ao3 coming at you with another chapter and this one didn’t take me over a month to create, I guess being more active makes your brain work better - who could’ve predicted. 
> 
> As promised this is a fluff chapter, and i’m sorry for not delivering too many words today, but I didn’t felt like this chapter could be more stretched out, there’s not much to capture, there’s two new days to capture still, so 12k is enough for now.
> 
> I’m sorry if it’s not my best chapter ever, I’m completely out of my comfort zone writing fluff/domestic and also i’m not the most comfortable writing nsfw WHICH ALSO HAPPENS. If it feels like this chapter is too light is because it has to be.
> 
> Be ready for more soon, I’ll be working hard on more updates.

Chan’s chest is warm as a fuzzy blanket in winter, his arms are strong and protective like he holds the secrets of the universe inside of it, and Minho never felt so held and so naked before. It’s a perfect place set between the good and the evil, inside Minho, all the demons are still awake, sitting on his shoulder, but compressed inside from the feeling of being so casually but so perfectly held, and that would lead him into panic if it wasn’t for the slight banging of Chan’s heart, beating fast against Minho’s back if it wasn’t for the slight breeze of Chan’s breathing against his neck. 

Minho stares quietly at Chan’s hand that is still over his chest, how the middle parts are a little bit wider than the rest, how red and flushed his knuckles are, and the lines and drawings that his veins make on his upper palm, he has a small cut on his middle finger, and Minho realizes he’s not wearing the ring. He looks at the other hand that is holding a remote control and it’s not there either. A sign of mercy for Minho’s brain, a sign of mercy for the act they’re pretending to be in, an act of them together, without any label, consequence, or limitation.

They’re doing the Netflix bit of Netflix and Chill, as Chan noted before, there’s no need to do both since they have plenty of time, an odd concept that Minho is slowly adapting to. Minho is laid over Chan’s body, and it’s almost funny how he fits well on top of Chan, with his head perfectly fitted on the side of Chan’s neck. His legs are the same length as Chan’s that are wide open so Minho doesn’t have to be also laid over his lap too, smart choice, Minho moves a little too much, and that would make the Chill part happen very quickly. 

Minho looks at the Tv them watching Chan struggling to type in the name Forest and Minho’s glad Netflix’s system is quick and he doesn’t have to write the full thing before it shows up, “This is Tv is terrifyingly huge,” Minho comments and Chan lets out a small noise, “Why does the planner make it this way? We’re going to shit our pants when we watch Hereditary,” Chan laughs and Minho feels the vibrations of his body against his back, it’s quite comforting.

“Don’t ask me what goes on the mind of a professional house designer, I’m the dude with the huge lava lamp,” Minho laughs remembering how funny he found that Chan had that huge lava lamp because of fucking Shark Tale. It’s pathetic, and it’s so incredibly cute.

“Your house is the nightmare that keeps house designers up at night,” Minho says, and Chan lets out a small giggle.

“This is not fair because I haven’t seen your house yet and we can’t compare,” He complains cutely.

“Maybe someday when my house isn’t filled with dispatch journalists dressed as a homeless man you can see it,” Minho says, and Chan laughs, and he wishes he was lying, he caught a motherfucker dressed up with a high priced professional camera once, and it was very pathetic but hilarious, “But my house is beautiful, thank you very much.”

“I’m sure you have a huge picture of yourself on the wall,” Minho lets out a small laugh.

“You’re wrong, I have a lot of them, and also I’m a cat gear collector which makes my house not only beautiful for me but for my cute and perfect cats,”

“Does Dispatch know you’re a cat lady? I bet it would be an amazing headline,” Chan says and then he gestures in the air, “Idol Supermodel Lee Minho is a cat lady,” 

“And a homo,” Minho adds. 

“Honestly that’s the best description of yourself you ever helped make up,” Chan says and Minho elbows him on the ribs, and Chan simply laughs, “Are you ready to watch my pal Forest do his thing?” Chan asks playfully and Minho smiles.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” He asks dramatically. 

“No you don’t, you promised and if you tried to run away I would most certainly catch you,” Chan says and Minho rolls his eyes even though Chan can’t see it.

“I forgot you were the Accutane Vampire,” 

“Shut up,” Chan says before clicking on the movie to put it on. 

It ends up being very interesting, Forest is a big loser kid that thought Elvis how to dance, good for him. Minho is heavily invested in the child’s first love thing in the movie, and as it goes a little by Minho hates that Jenny is very, very, much like him. He almost, almost! cries when she prays to be a bird because it remembers Minho of that day in his childhood, and amazingly enough, Forest Gump, fucking Forest Gump, managed to get Minho slightly triggered. Forrest Gump is a good runner, which reminds Minho of Chan being fast at school. It’s funny that every single movie that has a war tends to have the same soundtrack and they’re lucky Minho likes it.

“Tenant Dan is hot,” Minho comments, and Chan giggles behind him, Minho is not lying, and he likes the personality too, close to Jenny probably Minho’s favorite is tenant Dan, hot ass annoying motherfucker.

“I always thought he looks completely insane,” 

“Exactly,”

Bubba almost reminds Minho of Changbin sometimes, just the way he’s sweet, and also the way he loves shrimp, not that Changbin does, but he sometimes lists his favorite songs and classic artists like that, which is quite adorable. 

“FUCKING HELL!” Minho lets out and he’s very much pissed, very, very much pissed, almost so pissed to cry, and that means the scene is completely heartbreaking and Minho wants to die, he looks up at Chan, “Why?” He asks and Chan pauses the movie, he looks down at Minho and his eyes are filled with tears, Minho’s are probably like that too.

“What?” Chan asks and he’s laughing but his voice is breaking because of course, he’s sad too, he would be a monster not to be sad. 

“Why Bubba? He was so kind and he had so much to live for,” And a single tear rolls down Minho’s cheek, and when it does, Chan bursts into laughter even more. Minho elbows his ribs again and Chan moans.

“It’s war, Minho, people die at war,” Minho is about to punch Chan for having this tone of holding on to more and more laughter. Minho is not someone that gets emotional for people he doesn’t know, but when it comes to movies, he’s a fucking cry baby, and he’s very much sensible, and Bubba reminded him of Changbin and he hated that Bubba died, he hated it so very much t’s almost dumb. 

“I know they do!” There Minho goes, being offended by the way people write movies, “But there’s a lot of people to kill other than Bubba,” And Minho is deadly serious, he’s really invested in the dumb movie Chan likes.

“He’s going to be remembered well, Minho, it’s okay,” Chan laughs again, and Minho elbows his ribs once again, dumbass keeps laughing.

“Put this motherfucking movie back on,” Minho says pissed, and adjusts himself to watch it again. Even though everything seems terrible without Bubba, there’s a bunch of time left still in the movie. 

Minho realizes that ping-pong is very dumb and he would probably hate to do it, but he’s glad Forest is coping with his ass wound with ice cream and a dumb fucking game. The reuniting scene is very heartwarming and Jenny is back, at least someone he likes very much is there, to replace the weight of lacking Bubba. And Jenny is gone again and Minho is once again pissed, also Jenny gets even more similar to him which triggers him again. 

“Look, Tenant Dan is looking cuter with his hair long,” 

“Your taste in men is starting to offend me a little,”

“Don’t be jealous, you're a thousand times cuter than Tenant Dan,” Minho feels that Chan smiles by his jaw touching Minho’s head, and Minho smiles back, focusing on the movie. 

More of the movie goes on, and it’s hella attention-grabbing because it switches not only timelines but also has a bunch of historical facts that Minho doesn’t care about, he doesn’t have anything strong against the United States, but he really doesn’t care about its history. Yet it’s quite fun how the movie portrays it, there’s a heart-clenching scene about Jenny that could make Minho burst out in tears in which he doesn’t. Tenant Dan is around again, and Minho really likes his personality, the hurricane scene makes him like Dan even more, and Minho hates to admit that he likes the dumb movie Chan loves, maybe there’s some whiteness in him too. 

“I wish I could run away too,” Minho says, while he watches the timeline of Forrest running around the whole country, “But honestly I would get tired after 5 minutes and get a taxi back home,” Chan giggles, sending those good vibrations again. If Minho ever were to run away he wishes Chan could run away with him, he would take the pain on his muscles, he would take every bit of exhaustion if he were to run away holding Chan’s hand. It’s a faraway dream, but a dream that will stay, as long as he’s alive, Chan left a bruise on him, those that never fade away, they might get yellow and fade away with your skin color, but there’s always a small discoloration that makes you remember that once, something was there. 

Minho finally understands why Forrest was sitting on that bench info-dumping, and he suddenly smiles at it, it’s adorable how Forrest kept loving her so much it made him go anywhere and everywhere she was heading, and Minho would find it dumb, a year ago. He always loved romance movies, he always loved reading romance, but he always thought and felt like they were the most unreal type of media, maybe even ci-fi, even Harry Potter or heroes movies were real somewhere, but the love he saw being portrayed wasn’t.

A lot of the things romance movies show are real, the ways some people react to certain situations, the way some books and movies make it end in a cold manner, those things are real, at least they were very real to Minho. But it used to lack something, something was missing, and that’s love. Minho always found it laughable how they showed a love that made people commit acts of madness, how it led people to sacrifices, how they thought they could do anything because they had love. Yet now, Minho kind of gets it, if someday Chan sent him a letter, years after being apart and asked him to go back, he might. He was led to madness, because of a single person, a boy 3 centimeters taller than him, that looks like someone who would break you into pieces, that is the exact opposite of that.

Minho never felt like exploring something that isn’t on the surface of someone, he’s quick to judge, very quick to judge, and he never sticks around long enough to realize he might have misjudged someone by their outside. And he finds it kind of funny remembering that at first glance, Minho thought that Chan was another businessman, all cocky and empty looking for a piece of a beautiful body for a night, someone so high on their pedestals that they think they could have anyone they want because they sit on a pile of money and dress in suits that cost more than some people’s lives. 

He remembers judging right away his action of offering the blazer, the way his hair was perfectly straight and filled with hair gel, he remembers finding it obnoxious that a man would even dare to make a move on him. Chan was nothing like all the other company owners he had a small-time with, but still, Minho thought he was just a young kid, looking to enjoy the benefits of his beauty and money, someone Minho would have a chat to cure his boredness and someone that would end up fucking him like everyone does and leave in the morning. 

But Minho left first, and Chan wanted him back, and when Minho was fully sober some days before ignoring the request, something bugged him about how Chan was acting, and once coming back was a matter of curiosity, simple and regular curiosity, what is up with this kid? And then it was a matter of need when Minho got drunk and realized no one smelled like Chan even though they might look like him. He’s not sure when it stopped only needing and things turned into feelings, real and desperate feelings that lingered enough to keep him awake at night. It did though, and as he lays on Chan’s warm body watching a dumb movie, Minho feels weirdly at home. 

Minho finds out with the movie then, that once again his expectations are going to be wrecked, and that well, as much as a huge percentage of that movie is unreal, the part of it that isn’t hit harder than it should. And when he realizes it, he’s already crying, and there he goes again, “WHY?” He says while sobbing and Chan is laughing and crying all at the same time. 

“Movies, Minho,” Chan says followed by a hiccup because he’s crying too, “They really like making us cry, I saw this movie more than 15 times during my life and I cry every single time,” Minho moves and sits in between Chan’s leg looking at him, he has tears on his face and his nose and cheeks are pink, he doesn’t have that heart-clenching sad face from before, which is relieving, Minho never wants to see Chan like that again. 

“If I could beat up the writer from taking both Jenny and Bubba from me, I would,” Minho says then, cleaning the tears from his face with his hands, and he almost unconsciously cleans Chan’a cheeks too, with his thumbs he brushes the tears off of Chan’s pink cheeks, and his face is as warm as everything on his body. Minho stops in the middle of his action just to hold both sides of Chan’s face, and then he looks at the way his nose is always the reddest part of his face, and he places the tip of his index finger over Chan’s nose.

“Bop,” Chan says and something inside Minho melts, he feels both very sticky and very very overwhelmed with cutesy feelings, and his reaction is to burst into laughter and lay his head on Chan’s chest, squeezing his nose against Chan’s shirt.

“I fucking hate you,” Minho says in between laughter, and Chan giggles, Minho couldn’t be lying more, but that’s the only thing he’s really capable of saying, hate and love are very close together, and Minho chose the easiest feeling.

“Why?” He’s giggly still, vibrations of his voice and laughter can be felt by Minho’s forehead, his heart can be heard too, a little far away but Minho listens to the way it’s beating calmly and steady, while his heart seems to be racing since the moment he got on a plane, nonstop.

“Because you’re cute and I hate cute people,” 

“So, you hate yourself?” Minho looks up at the exact moment Chan says that and he’s staring at him, with a grin, and his eyes shining, what Minho categorized as “that face”, Minho remembers the first time he saw Chan staring at him like that, and it’s weird because knowing Chan now, and having mapped out every single expression he did, that one is special in some way, he always looks at Minho with caring eyes, he always looks at him with a soft gaze, and he looks at everything with that gaze. But this one is special, it’s different, it passes a different feeling.

“I do, but it’s not because I’m cute, I’m hot it’s different,” Minho says, and he doesn’t take his eyes off of Chan because he wants to see that expression for a bit more, just to figure out what it means, Chan is easy to read, but it’s difficult to completely understand what the shiny eyes with the grin means completely.

“You think you’re not cute, but you’re actually adorable, especially when you smile,” Minho would be really flushed right now if he was capable of doing so, but he feels his heart race a little bit faster, and his cheeks do get hot, maybe it’s only summer, maybe it’s because cute is a compliment that seems to have more love than beautiful, pretty or hot, Minho’s hands start to sweat and when they do, he does gagging noises to pretend what Chan said was disgusting.

“Never say that again,” Minho pretends it’s serious, he really does, but Chan just laughs, while Minho leaves his eyebrows frowned to still look mad, and when Chan is not laughing his face goes back to that weird expression, “What does this mean?”

“What? That you’re cute?” Chan asks, and Minho denies it with his head.

“Nope, this,” Minho points to Chan’s face and Chan frowns confused.

“My face?” 

“Not quite, the expression you have sometimes, with the eyes shining and the grin that makes you look like a froggy,” Minho says and he does look like a froggy’, his lips have a very marked cupid’s bow when he grins the perfect curve makes Minho think of a very cute frog. And most people think frogs aren’t cute, but maybe when they met Chan they will. 

“I don’t really know, because I can’t see myself doing it,” Chan says, and Minho stays silent for a while just staring at Chan, and Minho decides to smile, as bait to catch Chan on the action of making that face, and it doesn’t work, so he just looks at Chan for a while, counting the number of times he paid attention to every single part of his face, and he looks for something he hasn’t noticed yet, so in the future when Chan is just a memory, nothing will be missing. It’s unexpected but there it is again.

“There! You did it again,” Minho points at Chan’s face and the expression goes away, to be replaced with a confused gaze, which is just as adorable as all the expressions he makes, and Minho hates that he’s so in love with Chan that nothing he does is not cute, god damn how dumb he feels for that. 

“I did?” 

“YES! What does that mean?” Minho asks then and Chan presses his lips together trying to figure it out, and Minho looks at him fondly, because there’s no other way to look at him, there’s nothing a single cell on Minho’s body is able to stop Minho from looking at Chan like he looks at the sea, like it’s the most beautiful thing he ever saw, the most mysterious, the thing he wants to discover everything about.

“I really don’t know because it’s not an expression I realize I’m doing,” Minho looks at him with one eyebrow up.

“What were you feeling then? There’s a reason why your face does things,” This is not supposed to be an interrogation, but it is because Minho is invested in knowing what that means. Most things about life Minho is invested in discovering the meaning, he knows there’s a meaning to everything as much as life is mostly meaningless, and that does make him go completely insane at times because Minho lost most of his time in this world figuring out reasons for everything that happens. The problem of finding meanings though is that nothing actually really matters, he has all the answers to all the questions but there’s nothing he could ever do to change almost every single one of them. 

“Well, I just feel a lot of things when I’m looking at you or talking to you, thinking even, I don’t know how to explain it,” And Minho totally understands, because he feels the exact same way, he doesn’t know if he has a face too when he’s being overwhelmed by Chan’s presence, if all those moments when he looks at him and sees a whole world he’s able to express it, maybe there’s not an expression he could have. Chan is like a shower of complex emotions that he can’t express with words, expressions, behaviors. That’s why most of the time he just ends up crying because he’s hopeless because no other action could express the way he feels submerged inside his own feelings, so it just ends up melting out of his eyes. 

It’s almost like rain, Chan is the sun and his warmth is so overwhelming it leaves the clouds filled with water until it bursts and it showers everything. Chan filters all the tears and the pain out of Minho, and then it’s a little too much, he gets too filled up, too fill, and Minho is used to be just a cloud, empty space that looks like something but isn’t, just a shape lost somewhere and Chan shines so brightly that he gets grey. And Minho bursts and his eyes pour and his screams and moans are like thunderstorms and his reckless actions are like hurricanes. But when Chan sees Minho pouring, he embraces him, and suddenly. There’s a rainbow. 

“Chan,” Minho says then and he has something to say that he’s not quite ready to do yet, that he would never be ready to say, so he hesitates, it seems like the world stops spinning for a split of a second, and everything is quiet, so quiet it seems like the whole world could hear him, so Minho gives up, on a good portion of what he would say, and he only decides to say something because Chan seems to be waiting, “I really like you,” And it ends up being even dumber than what he thought before because he sounds like a middle-schooler. 

Chan giggles, “I really like you too,” It’s not enough to express what he feels and he realizes that by Chan’s actions, and Minho is tired of remembering the person Chan sees he got a glance of it when Chan wrote the darkest of lovers. Minho is quite tired to hear love confessions quietly, tired of harshness, and tired of being a coward. Because that’s what he is he saw himself as strong and bold, outspoken, but Minho is no better than a coward because he hides too, he’s afraid, terrified.

“No, I’m being serious,” Minho lets out and he hesitates again, “I have very strong feelings towards you,” And it sounds almost professional, so Minho sighs at himself, he made things even harder, “So strong and intense that sometimes I feel like I’m out of air to breathe,” Minho has to say something, someday, and that will be it, “I’m incredibly and hopelessly in love with you, so much that sometimes it’s quite difficult to exist,” And Minho hears the rain, and it’s not only inside his head, outside is pouring too. 

“I’ll never be able to enjoy you enough,” And there’s thunder, “Because you’ll never be mine,” Nature seems to be completely in sync with Minho because the rain gets heavier, and the sounds of it against the glass and water are loud, almost encouraging to say things loudly, “But even though we’re not forever,” Another thunder, “I will never feel this way again, ever, It’s only you,” And the rain just leaves noises on the glass doors. 

“I-” And Chan is not able to complete whatever sentence he was planning on saying, because Minho cuts it by pressing his lips against Chan’s and it’s almost instant his response, like magnets that are too close together, Chan tilts his head to the side, while the rain pours heavily and unapologetic, and Minho deepens the kiss while Chan holds his waist, tightly as always, protective as always. One single tear is able to leave Minho’s closed eyes, and it rolls down slowly, as Chan’s spare hand travels under the shirt that Minho is wearing, a shirt that just like Minho himself, belongs to him, and him only. 

The smell of Chan once again blocks Minho’s senses, and he’s focused on once again feeling the softness of his lips, the harshness of his tongue against Minho’s, the taste of faded mint, and the unbearable sensation of Chan’s strong and warm hands against his bare skin. Every time it seems to be the first time, the same sensation of his heart rushing and running towards nowhere, the same shivers down his spine keeping him steady and at the same time wild, the same burning sensation inside his chest and on the surface of his skin. 

Chan touches the outside, the surface, the being, the physical, just like everyone did, but the huge difference between him and everyone else is that Chan touches the inside too, the bare, naked, and raw, and he crawls inside Minho’s skin, inside his bloodstream, inside his heart and his head, and if that’s even real, Chan gets to his soul and his spirit. Being the only one other than Minho to crush it or encourage it to expand, he’s all over inside or out.

The hand on his waist goes down, to the bottom of the shirt, and Minho nods, which Chan understands instantly by moving his other hand to the exact same place as the other, and the kiss is broken just so Chan can slide his shirt out of Minho’s body, not wearing a bunch of clothing is actually pretty helpful because just like that he’s almost half-naked. Chan needs a little bit more work though so Minho goes to take his shirt off too, Chan allows it but denies it when Minho wants to get him even more naked.

He picks Minho up by his ass and lays him down on the horizontal part of the couch, “You look beautiful,” He says, kneeling down in between Minho’s legs and Minho only smiles, he has no absolute clue of what Chan thinks when he says that, Minho has an amazing face and he must look really amazing with his red like blood hair all messy on his forehead but he doesn’t find his body impressive at all, it’s amazing when he’s fully clothed because his proportions are supposed to fit clothes well. But right now only wearing Chan’s boxers, there’s nothing too special about a skinny and bruised body. 

“You’re not getting your shorts out of you?” Minho asks and Chan denies it with his head.

“For now it’s all about you,” He says and Minho is not quite sure what that means, but he knows that for a while he’s not in control, and that weirdly doesn’t freak him out like it used to. Minho decided that this trip is supposed to be a fever dream anyway, a weird and unusual escape from reality because that is the actual description of it literally. They’re both escaping their reality, the things that keep them apart, and Minho lets out some feelings too, it wouldn’t be an escape if he brought all his old limitations with him. 

Minho takes a good look at Chan’s figure when he suddenly stands up, he doesn’t move because he understands the picture, Chan is looking for something. He looks amazing shirtless, which is a privilege Minho thinks he doesn’t have, he has to be skinny like that, it’s not much of a choice and more business than anything else. But well, Chan works with a different type of business, so his body type is a choice, a very well thought choice, when he`s facing Minho he’s not sure if the muscles complement the shapes of the tattoos or if the tattoos move with them, he’s not sure when Chan got his whole chest done, but it sure is beautiful, how all the curves are also curves he has naturally.

Facing Chan’s back could be even more pleasing than facing the front because the dragons curl around his back, one red and one black, like enemies but like lovers, inhabiting and fighting for the same beautiful surface, and it’s almost like Chan read his mind because as he walks he rolls his arms and there’s the movement. The muscles change shape and the dragons seem to be fidgeting up for a while like they’re actually flying in the sky. Other than Chan’s back muscles and his enemies-lovers' dragons, he has a very predominant butt too, everything compliments each other. Minho has a strong love for fashion and thinks that clothes are the true complimenting of a body, but Chan looks much better without them. 

Chan seems to find what he was looking for and he gets back quickly throwing something on the couch when they used to be sitting together to watch a movie. And yes, the chill part finally arrived. Chan comes towards him like a wave, suddenly his body is fully covered by Chan’s, strong and warm chest sticking against his own. Chan manages his own weights on his hands, and Minho feels like it’s a loss of beautiful space that his strong arms aren’t able to be fully tattooed. 

Chan looks at him for a while, and there’s a difference in his gaze, his eyes are more narrowed, less rounded, and cutesy, his eyebrows are a little bit more frowned giving him a stronger gaze, Minho realizes a new thing also, he has uneven eyelids that normally aren’t that noticeable, but only with his eyes filled with lust and narrowed down it can be seen. His lips ate slightly parted and his jawline was chiseled, not only Chan is warm, he’s hot, burning hot. And Minho can’t take the starting any longer, he just moves his head up to kiss him in which Chan gets instantly by leaning in a little bit more until Minho’s head is completely glued to the couch again.

The kiss isn’t as soft as it was before, and Minho quickly moves his hands to the back of Chan’s head holding tightly the back of his hair, a handful of very soft curls. They explore each other’s mouth for more than they used to, maybe knowing they have time kills the rush, Minho not only holds the hair, slightly pulling, his other hand travels softly by Chan’s back, feeling the soft skin and the small textured bumps of the thick lining of his tattoos. 

When the kiss is broken Chan doesn’t stop the action, he leaves a very wet kiss on Minho’s chin and leaves a line of kisses by his jaw, one of his hands holds Minho’s waist, as always, he seems to really like Minho’s waist. The other runs down until it’s on top of Minho’s boxers, that don’t actually belong to him, and it sends shivers down his spine. Chan seems to have learned a lot from their limited experiences, and maybe the way Minho made him a little more confident today helps too.

There’s not a single sign of force or discomfort, unlike most times Chan doesn’t seem too hesitant, he licks the skin under Minho’s ears, leaving some kisses, Minho wants to have stains of that trip with him, so he’s more than glad and more than pleased by the way Chan seems to want the same thing, as he bites down and sucks the skin of Minho’s neck passionately, and Minho wants all the bruises to be deep purple, all the bite marks to stay red and there for a while, so he can have a constant memory, of a very much confident Bang Chan making Minho his own for a little bit, for 72 hours, Minho belongs to him, and he’s marked as his.

Chan bites his whole chest too, it’s all purple spots and heavy shivers, the warmth and wetness of his lips combined with how soft and rough he can be is just the perfect balance of good and pleasuring feelings, and the way he painfully rubs his hand over Minho’s boxers, slow and steady, it makes Minho shake sometimes. A good and overwhelming situation. Minho’s hands are still holding tight to Chan’s curls, and he wants to pull it harder, which he controls himself from doing by letting out sighs and heavy breathing. And those noises aren’t even only to control but to express that this is indeed good, having Chan’s lips all over his body, leaving his mark, Minho wants them to never fade away with his skin. 

When Chan gets to the bottom of Minho’s tummy, he rubs his nose over the prominent part, and Minho is obviously already very hard, which normally takes a little longer, but he realized that well, the attraction is key and he did feel attracted sexually to most people he ended up hooking up with, but it lacked the deeper attraction, Minho liked the superficial, he liked being touched, being fucked, and at most times it was out of a need of attention, or just overall neediness. But with Chan it’s rather different, it’s not only that Chan is attractive - in which he is - not only because he’s hot and because Minho is needy.

He wants it, it’s not about needing to be touched, about craving the physical, it’s about really wanting it, he wants to hold Chan’s curls, he wants to feel the way he’s warm, how his skin is soft, and how he can be rough, he wants to see Chan’s face, feel his hands, his lips, every aspect of it is enough for him to get very, very, horny. It’s also intimacy, and he understands Chan’s confidence now, a little better than before, Minho doesn’t care about limitations he created, because it’s not purely a business to get what he wants, it’s wanting more and more of what he already has. 

Chan is very good a foreplay, of getting Minho piled up, and he has a lot more mercy than Minho would have, he would probably make this a teasing nightmare, but Chan is more subtle, he left his mess behind, tasting and biting and marking every piece of skin he wanted, getting Minho sweaty and shaky. But he gets to the other part quickly too, he takes the boxers out with majesty, and the teasing is a little bit there by the way he starts licking from the bottom to the top very slowly and leaves a very long and slow lick on the tip. 

The magic of a blowjob is not only how you execute it, even though that’s the most important part, but the skills with the tongue and its texture also help a lot too, Chan’s tongue is incredibly agile and rough, yet how he manages to make it incredibly wet is fantastic. Minho will forever hate the way Chan is a very fast learner because he did that once, a single time, which was also good, but he improved, a hell of a lot. When he takes almost the whole length inside his mouth, Minho finally lets out a noise, because it feels like a weight is thrown out of his back, as the waves of pleasure are not less overwhelming but much more powerful.

It’s slow and careful the tongue rolling around and giving it a little more flavor, Chan has a habit of every time he gets to the tip he licks it whole before finally getting it back in his mouth and it honestly drives Minho to madness, his stomach contracts almost every time he does it, and it’s almost impossible to stay quiet. Chan suddenly changes rhythms, by making his mouth a little tighter and also going a little bit faster, and Minho moves his head up because he doesn’t know how to te react to the waves of pleasure running down his body, starting by shivers that start on his shoulders and go quickly to his lower back which makes him move without even thinking about it. He ends up accidentally looking at Chan’s face, which he really wished he didn’t. 

The curls have fallen over his forehead and his whole face is flushed, his lips around Minho’s cock look almost like he’s using a deep red lip tint, and they’re even plumper, the pinkness contrasting with Minho’s more sunkissed skin, and fucking hell, he’s looking at him, piercing stare, filled with lust, watching carefully every single reaction. Minho’s whole body goes suddenly weaker and he can no longer hold his weight to stare, he just tilts his head down, keeps his mouth open, and tries to deal with both the thing he just saw and the feeling of Chan’s very precise, very warm and very wet mouth. 

It gets to another level because Minho can’t keep his eyes open, too overwhelmed to do so, but his head keeps playing the same image, Chan looking deeply at him, taking him whole inside his burning red lips, the flushness of the cheeks, the way he looks both cute and very incredibly hot, it’s double stimulation. Chan moves his hands, and Minho doesn’t know what he’s doing exactly because he doesn’t have the strength or the courage to look at Chan again, it would be officially too much for him to take. 

It’s not quite clear even though there are some signs, Chan does lose his rhythm for a while and he’s indeed moving his arms, but it’s still good, and hot, and so fucking wet that Minho doesn’t really care at this point, everything Chan could do would make him crawl and moan and shiver, he’s already too sensible. He hears a sound and he doesn’t care either, because Chan does that thing with the tip, and when Chan makes sure Minho’s legs are wider open he also doesn’t care.

Well, it does change, when he realizes the strawberry scent is too prominent to be just shampoo and when something very cold and wet touched his bottom, and Minho connects all the dots, the noise the moving, the strawberry scent, because he’s very much sure Chan’s has a very loaded with lube finger pressing against him, not enough to do something but Minho suddenly opens his eyes, the cold and the unexpected touch make him shiver. Chan starts moving his finger around and finds harmony in rhythm with his hands and mouth, and that is really teasing, going there but not completely and Minho’s breathing is the thing that loses rhythm and it just comes to a time that his hips lose control too, rolling it around to feel more of Chan’s finger and mouth. 

Fucking hell, Chan could also be a teaser, sadly Minho finds out because well, the last time Minho was properly finger was far before Chan showed up, something stops him from doing it with someone or even on himself, and he has held onto the attraction he has for Chan’s fingers as something more of a noticing thing, unable to cross the line of fantasizing about them but now it’s a bit late to not do so.

His brain is flooded with both the image he saw before and all the memories he has of staring at Chan’s fingers, how they’re thick, not too small not too long, the red knuckles, how they can hold a bunch of things at once, how strong and veiny his hands are. It’s honestly driving him inside, thinking about those beautiful fingers all up inside him, stretching, moving, and Minho moans just thinking about it and it’s a painful noise, with a bunch of despair, Chan seems unbothered, because as he said before, it’s all about Minho for now, and he doesn’t know what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling, and he teasing just makes him even crazier.

“Fucking hell,” He lets out and it’s accidental and genuine, on his tone is clear that he’s frustrated, “Just… fuck me already,” It’s breathy and almost like a whisper, but it’s definitely loud enough, desperate enough, Chan being merciful is amazing, and it’s also amazing how he’s not merciful at all that without notice half of his fringer is already in.

A slight line of pain is felt when he does, but it’s blurred because Chan doesn’t move for a while, he just keeps his mouth around Minho’s cock and slowly inserts bit by bit, and Minho notices it when it’s fully inside, and Chan does a little more confirmation because his mouth leaves Minho’s cock and is quickly replaced by the hand that used to be on Minho’s waste. They have hit a new level, not only to this exact action but ever, they never got this far or too close. And Minho really wants to regret this action and make it stop, but Chan’s finger up his ass is just too much distraction. For literally any other thought that isn’t “Fuck this is good” or “I want more of it”

He doesn’t really know once again if it’s just being very sexually deprived that makes him feel like that, or if it is the fact that he loves being fucked in every possible way, or if he’s way too attracted to Chan for his own good or Chan is just really special. It must be a combination of all because when he doesn’t move still, Minho rolls his hips around again, making him move. And when he does it’s just a burst of all those reasons together, mending, dancing together, the strawberry scent is very overpowering and Minho fucking loves it, Chan’s finger is thick and he’s doing a great job at not only moving it around not only inside and out but also keeping it steady with his hand movements. 

Chan seems to realize when one finger is not enough and the wetness is missing more because he quickly switches his hand out of Minho’s cock and there’s once again that slippery and cold sensation against him, and then slowly two of those beautiful fingers are inside of him. It’s not as overpowering as actual penetration, but the fact that Chan’s fingers are indeed thick is just enough fullness for now, and every time he moves the fingers to stretch Minho just can’t physically hold back noises, it’s a little too much. Fully sensory overwhelm, his hormones burning inside, the pleasure building up and up almost unbearably, the smell of sweat and the strawberries, the wet noises and the ones Minho lets out, his brain playing image after image. 

Now with two fingers, it’s the closest Minho has ever gotten to actual business in a while and he fucking loves it, Chan moves a little and Minho opens his eyes without putting much thought into it, and obviously he regrets it. Chan is half kneeling looking at Minho’s body with dark eyes, one hand holding onto Minho's cock and the other places underneath him. 

And Minho needs to keep his eyes open, because he’s stuck in that moment, watching the thick pale with thick knuckles hands holding him, the realization that they’re actually inside him even though the pleasure makes him feel like it’s a fever dream, and there’s Chan’s beautiful chest fully tattooed, and the mark on his shorts, a confirmation that he likes what he’s doing. That Minho turns him on too, even totally untouched. 

Minho tries to imagine how Chan would act, actually fucking him, or even getting fucked, he remembers how whiny he is, how strong he is, how his dick is much like his fingers, pale and pink, thick and veiny. It’s enough, it’s just enough for Minho to lose control of his body, rolling his body around, leaving a little louder noises out. 

It’s a bunch of overstimulation, and it’s like his soul leaves his body, when he spasms and almost screams, the feeling on his lower back, his stomach clenching and a feeling so good he could die right there with not a single care in the world. Minho just comes all over Chan’s beautiful hands and his own stomach. 

His whole body shakes as Chan keeps going a little bit after climax and Minho’s dick is very, very, sensible, it pulsates and gives him shivers with every slight contact. And Chan only stops when Minho moves his hands to make him do it. Because he just cannot handle it anymore, it got to a point that he would scream. 

Chan takes out the fingers first, and Minho already misses them, and then he leaves Minho’s cock. It’s a switch of reality, Chan just grabs his shirt on the floor while Minho just lays there out of breath, trying to feel less itchy on his genitals, which seems impossible. Chan cleans his hand and then Minho’s stomach with the shirt, very kindly, and then lays lightly over Minho’s body, leaving a very soft kiss on his nose. 

Minho stares at his face for a while, and Chan is grinning at him, the mood seems to switch so highly, Minho can still feel that Chan’s cock is hard against his thigh, but the eyes are back to their soft and round shape, his hair is all messy, some small curls are glued to his forehead. It’s still raining outside and Chan is the most beautiful creature Minho ever saw. 

He smiles, while moving his hands up to brush some curls out of Chan’s face, putting them under his ear, and if Minho were supposed to do that face Chan does sometimes it would be now. He kisses Chan’s forehead, and it tastes like sweat and Minho likes it, Chan gets a little more flushed than before with that soft kiss, and Minho just lets a small sound like a laugh and hugs Chan’s body, all warm and sticky. 

“I really need a bunch of things now,” Minho says, his nose shoved on Chan’s hair, more strawberries, and softness.

Minho never realized that even though his perfume is very impactful and masculine his hair smells like strawberries. Such small detail about someone, but somehow important, because that’s something able to express exactly how Chan is, at first all you see is the hair up, the suits, the muscles and the jaw, his beauty, and after a while it’s all sweet and soft smells, kind and lovely.

“What?” Chan answers quietly, his voice is very soft, like he’s feeling as relaxed as Minho after getting a literal orgasm. 

“A drink, cigarettes and you,” Minho says quietly, and rubs his nose on Chan’s hair. The strawberries are really complimenting, it makes Minho feel good, “Maybe later a shower,” Chan giggles.

“You already have all of me, so the drink and the cigarettes can be arranged,” Chan lets out and then moves his head up, giving Minho a small peck on the lips, “I’ll also arrange a clean shirt and boxers,” He gives another peck before getting up, and Minho just stays laid on the couch, not feeling strength on his body quite yet. 

After a few minutes Minho is wearing another Calvin and a Black Sabbath shirt, Minho didn’t know Chan liked rock or anything and it weirdly seems fitting, and Minho would love if Chan dropped the sweat pants or shorts thing and started to look a little more gothish. Maybe someday Minho can dress him up properly. 

The rain pours quietly outside and Minho watches carefully every water drop hitting against the glass, sometimes he looks at the pool to watch the water mending with more water, how the pours create a mesmerizing effect when in contact with more water. The waves are more aggressive now, not as much as they could be, but it’s less than a subtle break, sometimes it breaks against the rocks shore and splashes water around. It’s beautiful. 

Chan handles Minho a cigarette and the light green lighter, he bought the ones Minho always had, and Minho almost giggles to himself imagining Chan going to a store to get exactly the cigarettes that Minho likes just to please him. One cup of whiskey with two blocks of ice is also handed to him, and it has a straw, just like the one Minho was drinking in that hotel. 

“Have you imagined we would end up here? That day when we met?” Minho looks at the glass, the brownish liquid and the small cubes, the straw is exactly like that one, black and very skinny. 

“No, I don’t think anyone could imagine…” Chan says then, and he lays a little further into the couch they’re sitting on. He takes a long puff of his cigarette and Minho watches as the smoke dances around the place, meding with thin air, “I knew I wanted to see you again, but I never realized I would fall for you,” 

“Me neither, I thought I would never fall ever again,” Minho laughs after it, because now it seems almost like a joke, because well, he did, in a way he never did before, he thought he was very smart, that all his experiences would make him incapable of falling again. It’s a complete joke. 

“I have never fallen before, so I couldn’t possibly predict when it would happen, I thought it would take longer,” Chan drinks almost half of his cup of whiskey, which is by the way, the one they always drink, “I thought someday I would up falling in love with Jihyo, I really tried,” 

Minho feels terrible about that, “Is she bad? Like, impossible to like?” He asks.

“That’s the problem, she really isn’t, I find her super cool, and she’s a beautiful woman,” Minho can’t deny the last part, he might or might not looked her up, and she’s hot, and beautiful, Minho really tried not to be jealous when he saw her, but it was unconscious. 

“Then is it just because she’s a friend?” Minho asks, if he were to have an arranged marriage, and if it was a hot and pretty cool boy he would most definitely end up at least fuck him, maybe catch some feelings. 

“It’s because she’s a woman, Minho,” And that makes Minho stop midway lighting his cigarette, he looks at Chan with the cigar between his lips, and Chan seems pretty boomed out which is honestly heartbreaking.

“So you think you’re gay?” Chan giggles and takes another very heavy sip of his whiskey, leaving it almost empty, Minho can sense the pain. 

“I always knew I liked boys, I used to find them prettier, being an athlete was very frustrating,” Minho arches one eyebrow, “We shared the same goddamn shower, and I thought it was hormones, then I accepted I found men attractive, but I was so sure that I liked girls too,” Minho realizes that must have brought a bunch of pain to a very small and confused version of Chan, Minho always knew and accepted that he was gay. But for most people it’s quite different.

“What made you realize you didn’t?” 

“I’m not quite sure, I kissed them, and it wasn’t disgusting so I just thought I had to be in love before I kissed someone,” And Chan giggles again and Minho knows that isn’t because he finds it funny. 

“But you never fell in love with them?” 

“Nope, I fell in love with you,” Minho finishes his whiskey with one huge gulp that burns his throat.

“That made you think you would never fall in love with a girl?” Minho asks, and he tries not to be invasive but it’s quite difficult not to, he wants Chan to let anything that bothers him get out, without making him feel bad. Which is nearly impossible. Chan fills his cup again, and takes another long sip.

“At the beginning maybe I still thought that, but when I touched you, and kissed you, I realized I wouldn’t be able to do it with a girl,” Minho feels pain and he feels almost guilty, it’s okay to be someone’s gay awakening, quite complimentary even, but to hold it as a responsibility it’s a bit terrible, “It just wouldn’t feel right,” 

“You can’t knock it until you try it, I guess,” Minho never went through an experience with a girl to know, he always felt boobs weird, and he never found a girl something attractive other than something entirely platonic. 

“I kinda did? I never had sex with a girl, but I tried feeling something with pictures and porn,” Minho wouldn’t have gone through that experience, at all, all types of porn are quite disgusting but well, maybe straight porn is worse,

“How was it?” Minho tries to sound casual and takes a puff of his cigarette, leaning against the sofa more, to hide his tension, it’s a topic he doesn’t give much care into, but he knows Chan does.

“Bland, the ones where it’s just the girls made me bored and weird and on the boy and girl ones I would kind of just look at the boy,” 

“So, you think you’re gay then,” And Chan giggles again and it’s almost frightening, maybe that’s his way to sound less bothered by it, and Minho gets it, unfortunately. 

“I wish it was just a thought, so I wouldn’t have to deal with it,” That’s something Minho would easily say about most things, and almost instantly he glues to Chan’s side, and changes his cigarette to the other hand so he can touch Chan’s thigh. 

“It makes me miserable… I cried for hours watching porn, it’s was pathetic,” 

“It isn’t actually, it bothers you, and it’s fair,” Minho squeezes Chan’s thigh, he’s not entirely sure what to say or do, it’s a subject in which he doesn’t have much insight to give at all.

“I wish my life was different, so it wouldn’t bother me,” Minho lays his head on Chan’s shoulder and Chan lays his head over Minho’s, “I always look fine, but I’m constantly miserable, I just wanted to love, I wanted to have someone, but I’ll have to live my life hiding,” Minho would burst into tears, he’s actually quite close to do so. But he just throws his cigar away, and he hugs Chan’s side. 

“I’m so sorry,” It’s the only thing he can say, he would do anything for Chan to be happy and free, everything, but he knows some things are beyond his fixing, and it makes his heart burn. Chan holds Minho too. And Minho feels his body shaking, so he hugs him even tighter. 

If Chan could live his life inside Minho’s arms it would all be okay, and Minho wishes life was that easy to escape, that they could just keep running away, but that’s not living. Life likes to put rocks on your way, and most of them can be easily moved away, some of them you have to use all your strength to roll up a cliff, and some of them just make your arms give out rolling over you until you’re crushed, until after a while of pain, you just stops existing. 

It’s an odd feeling to make Chan cry, to see his body shaking and hear the small noises of his crying on his ear, it happened before, but most of the time it’s because Minho cried first. This time it’s different, Chan is in pain, he’s showing Minho a part of him that is usually obscured. It’s like a meteor shower, when the sun cries. 

“Chan,” Minho says then, after a few minutes, and Chan just nods, so Minho can keep going, “Let’s go outside,” 

“But it’s raining,” He says, his tone is cloudy and as grey as the sky outside. 

“Exactly, lets around, there’s nothing stopping us,” And for that day, and for another two nothing will be stopping them. Minho realizes that this trip is not just a mental escapatory for him, not only a love trip for them to stay together for a while, Chan is also escaping his monsters.

The glass doors are opened, and it’s like opening a gate of clarity, the sounds of the rain are louder, the splashes are already wetting Minho’s feet, the sea roars, while dancing around and breaking against the shore, a violence, a beautiful violence. 

Minho grabs Chan’s hand, and it gets him startled, as soon as they have their fingers connected, Minho starts running towards the outside of the slightly covered area, and takes Chan with him. The pours hit his head, while he ran around while holding Chan’s hand. 

“Catch me,” Minho says before letting go of Chan’s hand, and he runs around, the wet grass underneath his feet, slippery but comforting, he looks behind to see Chan coming after him.

He keeps running and dodging because Chan is fast, and his laughter is as loud as the waves breaking and so are Chan’s who forgot to cry because the sky is crying for him, and it’s all going to be fine for now. Chan ends up catching him and he picks Minho up in the air, Minho is laughing loudly while water runs down from his hair to his face. 

Chan lowers him down a little just to give him a very, very, wet kiss on the lips, and Minho smiles against Chan’s mouth, and uses that as a scapatory to run away again. His clothes are heavy, from being soaking wet, but that doesn’t stop him, as much as the thing he’s wearing is heavy, he feels very light, almost like instead of running on the ground he was running on air. 

The noises of laughter and screams, the noise of the sea and the rain, the wet sounds of his feet against soft grass, all of that, every aspect of that seems like happiness. The rain cleanses his body, running down his skin and washing it clean, it cleanses his brain because feels just like a kid, scared of being caught on a small play, playing in the rain with no threat of being scolded. It cleanses his soul, because for a small time, there’s nothing inside of it aching. 

Suddenly strong hands hold his waist, and they turn him around, Chan embraces and holds his body with his arms, “Gotcha!” He says, before Minho tries to run away again and his feet are too slippery. Both of them fall into the grass, wet and sticky bodies laid over the ground, Chan on top of him with his hair all glued to his forehead.

Minho laughs the loudest he has ever done for a long while, and Chan laughs with him, his childlike and genuine laugh that could make him warm on the coldest winter night. Water drops over them and the small drops also fall from Chan’s nose on Minho’s face. 

Minho holds the back of Chan’s hair again, and pulls his head down, it’s a bunch of pecks on wet lips, making small noises that compared with the rain are nothing but heartwarming, “Everything is going to be fine,” Minho says in middle of soft wet pecks, and it’s not only to Chan, it’s to himself, and to anyone that needs to hear that too. 

“I-“ Chan was going to say something and he does, but the wave breaks against the shore, and it’s way too loud of a noise for Minho to hear, and he doesn’t care, his skin is itchy from the grass but Minho just wants to kiss Chan, while a piece of himself drops from the sky.

Time is unstoppable, but it runs slower when they’re connected, the only thing that seems to keep running is the rain making both of them completely wet. When they unlock lips Minho is smiling and so is Chan, and that fits Chan better, teeth aligned and white appearing while two dimples appear, small glimpses of shine inside his clenched eyes like two crescent moons. Maybe smiling fits Minho too, just not yet. 

Maybe someday Minho will feel like smiling regularly, like the normal thing it is, maybe something he will stop feeling embarrassed by, maybe someday he will smile with no guilt, without a second thought if he deserves it or not. Someday, Minho will enjoy more the simple things like running in the rain, playing catch, laughing his off with stupid things and sit down to watch a way too long movie and get fired up by it. 

But not now. Minho knows smiling regularly is difficult, most things make him cry more than laugh, to do it constantly he has to have less monsters inside his head fighting constantly over control. Now he cannot dismiss guilt or ignore the fact that he’s not deserving, he has made way too many people lose their smiles, it wouldn’t be fair.

He chose a life where the simple things are privileges, the beauty of the rain hitting against the sea is overshadowed by grey empty buildings. Running around in the rain makes you look like you’re in a rush or crazy, and he can’t afford being anything but his image, because people know that the crazy person running in the rain, playing catch with a lover is Lee Minho. 

Minho loves movies, he loves tv shows and music, but time seems to be a problem, committing to even finishing it when he doesn’t find motivation to do the things he’s obligated to, doing those who he isn’t is even harder. And Minho finds it amazing that he did not once care about being happy someday.

He’s used to enjoying his misery, he would wake up disassociated enough to forget things he did the night before, go to work or do work at home, and if he had nothing to do he would drive him to unconsciousness by partying, drinking. Anything but living. Chan made him want to live like he never wanted before.

As much as everything about their relationships makes Minho miserable, there’s a part of him, a huge part of him that misses Chan not only because he has romantic feelings, it’s because Chan makes him happy, for a while. He can lay down with happiness, for the few hours they have, just enough time for Minho to go on about his life.

Chan has become a weird type of medicine, and the problem is that Minho is the problem he’s trying to cure, almost everything about him is wrong and makes him ill. Minho has to take a little bit of his medicine, and the first days without it are just inconvenient, the effect fades away, and then all Minho feels is abstinence. 

He wants to change after Chan, because he knows, he knows he likes the “with Chan” version of himself more, and he knows that he’s going to lose Chan eventually, and life will be even more miserable. And maybe Minho doesn’t want to be miserable again. 

To enjoy the simplest things you have to go through the complicated ones first, Chan was a collection of both those concepts together, and Minho once thought he had learned everything. He was wrong. If you stare too long into the abyss it stares back. Minho became the monster under his own bed. 

The water drops and drops from the sky, and Minho doesn't want to get up, he just needs to stay there, stay with Chan, enjoying something simple and dumb, while the sky cries for him, where he’s not being held back by anything. The rain seems to get heavier, and Chan covers his forehead, and as many things in life, that moment has to end. 

Minho tells Chan he doesn’t need a shower, and Chan says it’s okay, he has time to take one later, and Chan just brings him a blanket and new clothes, Minho gets dressed on the spot by the door, and rolls himself into the blanket, sitting in a chair by the glass doors.

He stares outside, and he’s alone, Chan is taking a shower, for a second other than the sound of the rain and the sea, everything is completely quiet, Minho’s brain included. It’s beautiful how the waves break, it’s incredible how the water in contact with itself gets fuller and violent. It follows the moon, guided by it, and it lacks under the sun. 

Minho understands the water on another level, it seems like he’s forever connected to it, only feeling at peace with it but often encouraged to try and end himself with it. He’s much like the sea and the rain, so beautiful, so destructive, getting fuller and fuller of himself, growing waves and thunder when his contact with himself happens. The moon is Changbin and Seungmin, guiding him around the lonely and dark nights, he’s influenced by his moons and needs their connection.

Chan is the sun who makes the waters calmer, and Minho has lacked sun for a very long time, the moon was there to guide, the water was there to mend with each other, to make the skies and the waves roar against the floor and the shore. Chan is harmony, he’s home, and even more importantly, the light that makes him less full yet calmer. 

A kiss is placed on top of Minho’s wet hair, he gets startled but his heart goes back to its natural shape, beating normally, it’s not a threat, it’s only Chan. He’s there, therefore the waves don’t have to be violent, the rain gets to be stored inside the million of clouds, and there’s nothing who could make him roar. Chan is there. Its okay. 

He sits on the chair right by Minho, and handles him another cigarette, “I didn’t bring an ashtray so don’t care too much about where you’re putting the ashes,” He notes and Minho nods, still watching the rain fall down and splash against the pool and make noises against the glass that protects them from it. 

There’s silence and Minho just enjoys the taste of nicotine on his mouth and lips, the slight noise of the paper catching on fire while he does so, and then he pays attention to the grey smoke, slowly dancing around, to then disappear. Minho really wants to be cremated other than buried, once he thought a lot about how it would be to root. 

But Minho wants to go by smoke and leave only ashes, it feels more liberting. Minho wanted for his life the freedom, and it seems like having your rooting body closed inside a casket underneath the ground is the biggest trap a human could have. Maybe death is not as scary when you don’t imagine all the steps you go through before fading away. 

Being cremated is the choice, Minho wants his body to completely fade away, so he won’t stay in this ground for longer than he already did, and Minho wants to be free, he wants his ashes to be thrown in the wind, dancing with thin air and then fall over everywhere, so he can fly away even when he’s not existing anymore to do it by himself.

“Thank you,” Chan says then out of the blue, and Minho looks over his shoulder, Chan’s eyes are very calm, he has a side grin, his left dimple appearing, while he holds his cigar close to his face. 

“For what?” Minho answers, and takes a long puff of his cigarette, Chan makes his lips into a line. 

“For that… Listening to me, running on the rain,” Chan says, “There’s not a good explanation to it, it’s just that, it helped me a lot, so thank you,” 

“You’ve been helping me for months, you don’t have to thank me,” Minho says sweetly, and Chan smiles, and both his dimples appear, Minho wants to poke them. 

“Still, thank you,” He says, “How did you know?”

“I didn’t, it’s just that rain always helps me to feel cleansed,” Minho lets out, and it does, there’s nothing in the world that makes him better than a rainy day, “You don’t have to cry, the sky does it for you,” Chan smiles again, and it’s a new type of smile, it’s happy.

“I always thought rain was such a boomer,” Chan says, “It’s difficult to leave the house, I don’t enjoy entering places wet or using an umbrella,” 

“That’s the magic of rain, it’s there for when you’re not heading anywhere, I think most things in life are inconvenient if you have to get somewhere,” Minho says, “Yet, it might be the best company when you’re alone,” 

“Do you feel alone often?” Chan asks out of the blue and Minho makes a line with his lips, it’s a difficult yet simple question.

“I think I do, everyone is busy, and I don’t tend to enjoy moments fully,” 

“You did it though, you enjoyed the rain,” Chan says.

“Yes, thank you for enjoying it with me,” Chan just denies with his head, “Do you? Do you feel alone often?” 

“I think it’s the feeling I feel the most, I never had close friends, I think my best friend might be you,” It sounds quite depressing, very depressing, “You’re my lover, my best friend and confidant,” Minho smiles, and he smiles with his whole heart, even though he feels a little sad too.

“Aren’t you afraid? Of how you’re going to be when we end?” Minho knows Chan tries not to think about it, but as his confidant, maybe Chan would never be able to tell someone else what goes on inside his burning heart. 

“All the time, if I could make us forever, I would,” Minho’s head is automatically down, because it hurts, Minho wanted things to be easier, just a little bit, he doesn’t want to live happily ever after with Chan, he just wanted the chance for him to try, to know if it would work out. He’s not afraid of a breakup with Chan, he’s miserable because they can’t even have one.

“If I could I would too, I wish it was easier for us, but I’m trying to be a little more like you, and ignore that it isn’t, to enjoy you a little better,” Chan’s head drop too, it sucks that they have to discuss those things, that he has to do it every time because it’s a part of them, it’s a part of them they cannot ignore completely.

“Minho, can we make a promise?” Chan asks, Minho looks at him, he never was the one to promise many things, because normally things don’t work well enough to make them happen. It’s just expectations that might end up being broken. 

“Depends on what is,” 

“If you still want me in a few years, when life gets easier for us, can you come back?” Minho feels like he’s going to cry, “If you don’t want me anymore when everything is better, it’s okay, but I would like to have you back,” 

“How do you know you’re going to still want me, then?” 

“Because we never forget our first love, and I already promised that I won’t forget you,” Chan says, “It’s unlikely I’ll be with someone else, but if I am, you’ll know,” Minho sighs, and he looks back at the rain, he doesn’t know what time will bring, that’s the magic and the curse of life, you never can predict the future. 

“I promise,” Minho says, “I don’t know the future me, and I can’t promise for him, but right now, I promise I’ll get back,” 

“I’ll wait, even though it takes forever, I’ll wait,” Chan says, and he’s passionate on his tone, “I don’t think I’ll ever feel like this again, even though I might feel something for someone someday, you’re going to always be here,” 

“I don’t think I will ever have a relationship, I know it sounds pessimistic, and it is,” Minho sighs, “But I don’t want to let anyone in until I can fix my heart,” 

“Why exactly do you want to change your heart?” 

“So I can stop breaking someone’s else,” And Minho laughs, because well that’s the best things he can do, “I found a number of excuses for the way I act, but there shouldn’t be, I can’t blame Jisung or my parents forever,” 

“I’m proud of you,” Chan says honestly, “You should to,”

“I don’t deserve to be proud of myself for realizing, I didn’t change the slightest,” 

“But you will and that’s already something to be proud of,” He insists.

“It’s different for me, Chan, it’s difficult, when I get proud of myself for something I feel like it’s enough, it shouldn’t be enough,” Minho vents, and it hurts because he did that all the time, “The praise for me became the thing I live for, and if I keep praising myself, I’ll stay miserable because I only do the bare minimum,” 

“Then, I’m changing my speech,” Chan says and reajusts himself in the chair, Minho looks at him keeping a serious face, “Fuck you, this is not enough you need to do better,” Minho laughs.

“You’re almost believable, thank you,” And Chan reaches for his free hand that is resting over the chair, and he holds it thighly, it’s a confirmation. I’m here. I’ll be here. For now I will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did yall like this? I don’t really know what to think about this style of writing since it’s not my game, for those who haven’t noticed I’m an angst writer.
> 
> Leave your thoughts in the comments, and if you want “Me” content for some reason @bangIino on twitter.
> 
> Love, Rainy.


	10. And if you hear as the warm night falls, the silver sound from a time so strange (Sing to me, sing to me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back and so is Homewrecker, this is once another 20k chapter, that will take a little longer to read, but gladly the update didn't take too long to create since I'm being more productive right now. 
> 
> As many chapters in Homewrecker fashion, this is filled with up and downs and as always a long ride, but I think that at this point you are all expecting this from this fic. I wanted to thank everyone that commented again, especially some loving souls that made huge comments and I'll thank them individually. But before that, I would like to say that every single comment you guys publish is read and make me very happy, I actually check if there are new ones every single day, and they really make my day, I just can't even process that people love this so much and cared to leave me kind words and their thoughts, I never thought Homewrecker would go that far, not only the word count, the number of chapters but also the kudos, the comments, everything.
> 
> Thank you so much for supporting and liking it, for saying you guys are obsessed with it, this is my life's work until now, this is the biggest, most complex, and thought out fanfic I ever produced and I don't think I would even realize it without the things people say about it. I also didn't think It would get where we are, since when I posted I didn't know where the story was going. Thank you so so so much. 
> 
> leefrecklix thank you so much for the words you chose and for adding also a quote, it's quite dumb of me but I always wanted to have a quotable story, sorry for the hurting but I'm so glad you kept reading even though it might be a little hard on everyone sometimes, I absolutely loved your comment and it made me tear up a little.
> 
> liveinDreams you should definitely watch Forest Gump as much as Minho roasted it it's one of my favorite movies, your comment also made me feel a lot of things and I was so glad to hear that my stuff brought you comfort and that you found a part that is very particular to me so powerful, I will bring many surprises alongside the story, be prepared fgjhg, and you thanked me for sharing, but without the support and the kind words that I can't quite respond to because I don't know how to deal with compliments I wouldn't be around to keep publishing and loving this story too, thank you so much.
> 
> polisipo thank you so much, I will answer yours underneath your comment because I realize it might not fit in here, but I also wanted to shout you out too.

Minho has had difficulties with non-sexual physical affection ever since he was a kid, maybe the lack of it was an interesting reason for it. It would always be that uncomfortable moment, when he was very little he would cry when held by someone that wasn’t his nanny, even his mother, not that she really wanted, maybe little Minho knew somehow she didn’t want it. 

When he was a little smarter but still small, he would scream if anyone touched him, it would be a difficult time at home, because Minho made a scene, and those people were important, for reasons Minho didn’t understand. And later in life, they’re not important, if you don’t care about their importance.

Minho’s mom cared a lot about people’s importance, and maybe that made Minho the way he is with people, aligning himself shallowly with those who might be important. Like most things about him, it runs inside his bloodline, it’s completely hereditary. 

The first time Changbin ever touched him - because Changbin was touched, he dealt with the lack differently - they fought, and Changbin ended up crying, that was the second time Minho cared about someone crying. Seungmin was never touchy, he was always too straightforward to show affection other than words, and Changbin learned to ask. Until Minho was old enough to just don’t mind. Maybe if Changbin kept asking if he could, things would’ve been different, maybe some mistakes could’ve been avoided. 

Teenager years are weird times for anyone, Minho was just a little too extreme, as always he cannot act without intensity, it’s just not a gift he has. When Minho was 15 and horny, other than doing very weird ambiguous things with his best friends - all three of them happened to discover they like boys with each other -, he lost his virginity, without a kiss or a cuddle, he felt disgusted by the thought. It was funny to have never kissed but to be not a virgin anymore.

It seems like almost all fears you have about sex completely disappear after the first time ever, all the anxiety you build on how it would be is gone, and Minho liked sleeping around. He regrets ever getting out with those men that were way too old for him, and for telling Seungmin with enthusiasm about the things he got from it. 

Minho used to never feel like kissing, he never understood what was so fun about putting his tongue inside someone’s mouth and moving it around. But like most thoughts, you have as a teenager that changed, but it wasn’t that subtle. 

It was Jisung. It was completely weird and out of character when he saw Jisung for the first time, with blue hair falling over one side of his eye, while the other had a piercing on the eyebrow, because exactly when he did, Minho wanted to kiss him. He liked the curve of his lips and his laid-back gaze, there was something about him, and if Minho saw him again today, he would know he was trouble. Because as he got older he knew all those men with those gazes, interesting but uncaring are something to avoid in the long term.

It wasn’t difficult to kiss Jisung actually, for someone who had a boyfriend he didn’t hesitate, Minho didn’t ask, he leaned in, and Jisung did the rest. And for a first kiss, it was perfect, of course, Jisung was a good kisser, he looked like one. When Jisung was gone, Minho never kissed someone again. He held on, he used to just turn his head to the side and grab the dick, almost everyone gives up when he does so because for them it was more important.

He would never hug or cuddle, if it was soft or sweet during the sex, he would make it go wild, sometimes it wouldn’t be enough lack of intimacy if it didn’t hurt. Minho never knew if he was a masochist who enjoys the pain or if it was something inside him that drove him to do it. And he always claimed the first one, it takes less thought. 

In Chan’s fashion, because well that man really came into Minho’s life to mess every single rule he ever created, it’s interesting to notice that Chan always followed the rules, so much to the core that he never got the chance to live. But Minho was the first rule he ever broke, and as an extra, he broke all the ones Minho set for himself.

Minho did feel like kissing Chan, he acted adorably and had pretty lips, but he dismissed it all the times he thought about it. But when Chan did, Minho liked it, Minho loved it, there’s something about the way he tasted, how soft he felt, and the difference between the malicious eyes he saw on Jisung without knowing and Chan’s caring round eyes. 

It was so fucked, how Chan never broke any lining, he never forced anything, it came out genuinely, and if it wasn’t Chan, if it wasn’t for the eyes, and the warmth, he would've scream or deny it. Like he did all those times before. Minho who was rebellious but with well-centered rules became only reckless. There’s something freeing about Chan, even though he feels completely trapped. 

If Minho today told young Minho, or even one year ago Minho, that he hugged someone, kissed someone, held someone’s hand, let them hold him in his sleep, and ran in the rain with him, any of them wouldn’t believe it or do anything possible to avoid it. Minho doesn’t want that dumb thing people say, that they want to relive their lives with their knowledge but a young mind. Because maybe in reality Minho never went to Paris, maybe all the wrong choices he did lead him to the nether right or wrong one, the one that rules doesn’t matter and the one that makes him happy.

If Minho ever knew he was too close to love, actual love, he would’ve stayed away. Maybe he would’ve slept instead of going to the bar. Minho doesn't feel scared of love anymore, he’s just afraid of loving someone else. 

This trip was the weirdest yet freeing choice he ever made, it’s madness, and it was madness for a good while he acted upon it because Minho is scared, of what it would bring. Maybe being so in contact with Chan is going to make things even harder for him, rule-breaking is his forte but when it comes to his own it’s panic indulging, and Minho sees himself as someone too old to simply panic. 

Maybe when he gets home it would hit him, everything will crumble back down as it used to be before. Yet now, it’s late at night, and Minho is laid on Chan’s lap, Chan is sitting down, and Minho has popcorn on his lap. They’re watching hotel hell, and Minho wheezed like a child on the episode about the old lady and the diarrhea room. Chan probably saw all those episodes a bunch of times because he announces to Minho when an interesting time is coming up but he laughs and reacts as he never saw them before, it’s endearing to hear. 

When the popcorn is over, Minho puts the bowl to the ground and turns his body around until he’s laying on his side, his head comfortably settled on Chan’s thighs, and he doesn’t know what time it is, he just knows that outside it’s been dark for a while and that he watched probably a full season of hotel hell on youtube, eating a bunch of popcorn for dinner. It reminds him of movies or tv shows, the teen ones, where they have a montage of a movie night with popcorn and blankets, laughing their asses off because they’re still young and untouched.

Minho wishes sometimes to go through that coming of age history, to be anxious about kissing the boy he likes on the school homecoming ball, to walk around empty streets taking his first drunk way home night, to feel as the world will belong to him for now on, that the doors have opened. He spends a bunch of time just imagining how life would be without all the misery, all the mistakes, if he were only a normal person, walking around streets, filled with hopes inside instead of hungry dark holes. 

He doesn’t remember sleeping, he doesn’t remember it at all, he just remembers that he was watching and that Chan’s thighs are very comfortable pillows. He felt empty for a while, not the bad one, just a moment with no thoughts, and that moment was briefly interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. Minho gets back to consciousness and realizes he’s no longer on Chan’s lap, but an actual pillow and there’s a very fuzzy blanket over him, the house is silent, no noise from the rain or the Tv, and when he opens his eyes, Chan is right in front of his face, crouched down. 

“I was sleeping?” Minho asks, his voice is numb just like his whole body is, and it’s a good sensation, he doesn’t feel sick or about to disassociate as most mornings, he just feels tired and sleepy.

“Yes, very cutely,” Chan whispers as if someone could hear them, but the house is empty other than them, the world is quiet around there, maybe on the faraway there’s slight white noise from the sea, that seems to be calm, no longer roaring and washing the shore with violent waves, “I went to the car to get your bag, very heavy by the way, and now I’m inviting you to go to sleep in the room,” Minho simply nods but doesn’t move, he’s too tired.

Chan giggles and gets up, he puts one of his arms under Minho’s legs and Minho realizes he’s going to get carried to bed like a bride, he doesn’t care, he’s too sleepy to be uncomfortable by it, so he just wraps his arms around Chan’s neck, and with little effort, Chan picks him up. Minho smells his perfume because he has his face on Chan’s chest, and when he looks up at Chan, he’s smiling. Minho smiles too before closing his eyes again and crushing his face against Chan’s chest, unable to keep his smile out of his face. 

Minho’s mind says to him rapidly “I would choke on you if I could” and he just enjoys how easily Chan gets up the stairs holding him as if he was small and light as a baby. He misses Chan’s embrace when he drops him carefully over the bed and the bed is too cold compared to Chan’s arms, the whole world is too cold compared to Chan’s arms. Chan covers Minho with the blanket as a caring parent would, and Minho grins to himself while curling his body sideways, leaving his back to the other side, and when Minho is about to complain, Chan lays down too, and it doesn’t take long for him to be holding Minho’s whole body, to be fully cuddled. 

“I really like you,” Minho says, and Chan just holds him tighter, Minho doesn’t know if Chan is aware he’s saying what Chan said to him once when he thought he was sleeping, and he doesn’t care if Chan didn’t, he really wanted to say that back anyways. 

Being held by Chan is the warmest of things he ever experienced, having a kiss goodnight placed on his neck is the sweetest form of affection he ever received. And Minho is no longer terrified of touch. He’s no longer scared of being held and touched like he should’ve been years ago, at least not with Chan. And he doesn’t realize when he sleeps, it just comes naturally as it should, on dreamland and inside Chan’s arms, Minho feels something he never felt before. Safe. 

It’s so calm of a night that when Minho wakes up he’s in the same exact position as he was when he finally fell asleep, he doesn’t remember dreaming, maybe he was really, really tired, too tired to even dream he was doing something else than being held in his sleep. He opens his eyes and the day is extremely bright, small yellow lights of sunrise can be seen on the furniture beside him, but it’s not a hot day, because Minho feels the breeze from outside on his cheeks. 

He doesn’t feel like getting up, but he gets dizzy right after waking up, he has been there before. He wishes he could control his brain, turn the chemicals in and off, order it around, instead of it controlling him. He doesn’t know what makes him that way every morning. He wishes he knew what does that. 

Minho sits up in bed, Chan just moves around without waking up, and Minho feels his muscles becoming liquid while the room spins around in front of him, there’s a weight on his stomach like a punch on the guts, like he’s going to throw his stomach out. He grabs into the pillow tightly to make the world stop spinning but it doesn’t. 

He’s frozen in place it seems, and he doesn’t recognize that room, the sunlight makes him even dizzier and his teeth are banging against each other because suddenly the coldness hits him like a huge wave. As panic starts to raise, because Minho feels dislocated, he feels like he’s leaving his own body. 

He doesn’t know if it’s his imagination, he doesn’t know if it's madness, if he’s real, if things are real, it’s like a nosedive, there’s a numbness to his body and panic inside his head, screaming that something is wrong. He sees himself in the third person, sitting on the bed alone like there’s a mirror in front of him, and Minho’s limbs get weaker and weaker, and weaker. 

It’s like drifting inside the deep sea, your body getting heavier and difficult to control, your vision blurred completely, with a small glimpse of sunshine that gets further and further, there is numbness and Minho feels slightly deafened like his ears are underwater. Submerged, fading away but never disappearing. Never disappearing. 

Minho is lost, Minho is terrified and he doesn’t know where he is, he doesn’t know where he is. The lunatic is in his head, it’s inside him, there’s something inside him, there’s someone inside him there’s something inside his bloodstream, and he feels itchy. He gets up quickly and holds himself towards the wall, or else he would completely fall down.

It feels like he’s stepping on the glass again like he used to be, but now it hurts, and there’s something inside his blood, there’s something running down his bloodstream he’s sure there’s something inside him. Panic and panic and panic waves and waves and he’s stepping on glass. 

He manages to get around the room by stumbling around, holding into things he doesn’t really feel, he just feels like there’s glass inside his feet and something inside his bloodstream and he scratches the skin of his wrists, passionately, trying to get it out. 

A flashback appears, once Minho tried to take the thing out of his bloodstream, and he blacked out, and now he’s sweating cold. Minho gets to the balcony somehow and he doesn’t know if he’s making any noise, because he doesn’t hear anything. The world doesn’t feel real, everything seems liquid, like almost everything he’s touching is dripping out of his hands. 

Minho looks outside, and there’s the sea, raging against the shore, and he only hears water and water and more water, it’s like being submerged, and Chan is coming to save him. But nothing is real, nothing is real. He breathes in and out and he doesn’t hear his own breathing but he’s hyper-aware of his lungs working, so he forgets how to breathe, blinking very heavily and repetitively, trying to make his eyes focus.

Minho puts his hands over the balcony's ledge and drops his head down and looks at his own feet, which seem to be a little bit too odd and unfamiliar. And he breathes and breathes, and breathes but it doesn’t work, and there’s desperation, Minho doesn’t know completely what is happening and why it’s happening. 

He screams when he feels a hand on his shoulder, and he doesn’t look up too terrified of what it might be, maybe someone is out to get him, maybe something is going to throw him out of the balcony, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know anything. The hand stays there and then it moves, shaking his shoulder a little and Minho feels like screaming, and maybe he did. 

Because there are some echoes inside his mind, of a scream he doesn’t know to who it belongs to. He’s terrified, so terrified that he doesn’t move. But the hand keeps moving him around. He finally looks up and there’s the sea. The sea. Raging and Banging. Unforgettable, unforgiving. 

“Minho,” Someone calls from far away, and it echoes inside his mind, his name being called repetitively, getting sometimes closer, sometimes farther away, “Minho!” It’s louder, and his body reacts, he gets startled. It feels almost like it’s real. 

The grip on his shoulder seems tighter and he feels it, he feels it more intensely, “Minho!” Now it’s loud and clear but Minho has difficulties recognizing the voice, he heard it before, it's familiar but his brain doesn’t seem to pick up on it, “MINHO!” Chan. 

Minho’s legs give out for a while but he doesn’t fall, he’s held, and he's once again inside that pool, submerged, failing to breathe to function, accepting the numbness as comfortable and something snaps him out of it. Arms snap him out of it. His ear is not filled with white noise again, it’s silence. There are faraway birds, and there are the waves washing rocks around. 

“Are you okay?” He says, Chan says, it’s Chan, isn’t it? It’s just Chan, he’s taking him out of the pool again, Minho is closer to sunlight again, it’s Chan. He repeats to himself Chan, Chan. 

“Chan,” He ends up saying, his voice still sounds a little distorted, to his ears, he doesn’t see Chan at all, he just feels something clinging to his back, and it’s real, it seems to be real. 

“Minho, it’s me,” He says back, it’s him, it's Chan. He's not alone. Chan is real, Chan is real and Chan is clinging on his back and he might be real because Chan isn’t holding just air, Minho might be real. 

It takes him a few moments of silence to feel his body again, to feel like he’s inside of it again, and it’s a terrible process to get back to reality as it is to get out of it. It’s like something is ripping him apart to get back in, there’s a sharp pain inside his chest and Minho looks up, he coughs, just like he was just actually drowning. 

“Are you okay?” Chan asks and It’s Chan it’s Chan’s voice and then there’s the smell, the perfume, the strawberries. Chan is real and Minho is real too, as much as things are not okay, they’re real. 

“No,” He says, and he gets up, still feeling dizzy, and sits down in the chair beside him, he sees it, it’s not liquid, it's real, he feels it on his back, against his shirt, Minho breathes heavily. Focusing on one place at once, until that place seems normal. Chan puts a hand on Minho’s tight and he looks at it, and it’s there as it always is, pale long fingers with bigger and flushed knuckles, with veins. 

Minho focuses on it for a while, “How do you feel?” Chan asks and he sounds so worried, Minho is ashamed of himself, very, very much ashamed of himself. He doesn’t know what he might’ve looked like while the world seemed to be underwater. He scared Chan once again. 

“Not quite real,” Minho says back, looking at Chan’s hand still, looking at the lines, at every single detail until it’s connected back to his memories of it, over Minho’s chest, holding his thighs like this. It’s familiar again.

“Does this happen a lot?” Chan asks carefully and Minho nods, Chan moves his hand and Minho puts his own on top of it, just in case, and it’s flesh bones and veins, he’s real.

“Can you poke me?” Minho asks and Chan does it, poking Minho’s arm twice, one is very slight and the other Minho feels it completely.

“You’re real, Minho, this is real,” He says quietly, in a careful and reassuring tone, Chan touched him and saw him, he’s there, that’s real, Minho takes a deep and long breath. He’s more relieved, a little bit. 

“Thank you,” Minho says, and he looks up and Chan’s face is there, and the memories of seeing it a bunch of times before connecting quickly, all the times he stood there and paid attention to every single detail of his face. He’s beautiful, Minho notes to himself, and he cups Chan’s cheeks.

“I’m real too,” Chan says and Minho grins, he still feels a bit dizzy, just a little bit, but he can feel the soft surface of Chan’s cheeks under his palms, soft and warm. 

“I’m glad you are,” Minho whispers, and he brushes his thumb on Chan’s cheeks, it’s like touching him for the first time because Minho forgot for a while how it feels to touch something real. 

“What exactly happened, baby?” Chan uses the pet name Minho used when Chan was crying, it’s the softest thing ever, how precious it is. Minho doesn’t like pet names often, but that one is like a hug. 

“Sometimes I get dizzy, and things don’t seem real, I never know how to get out of it or why it’s happening, it just does,” Chan’s lips get crushed into a line, he still seems very worried, and it’s endearing. 

“I never saw this happening before, you looked like someone who didn’t feel real,” Chan says and he giggles, trying to break the ice, Minho still has both of his cheeks on his hands. 

“I don’t know how I look like, sometimes I see myself in the third person, but I don’t know if it’s how I actually look like,” 

“Do you want me to describe it to you? It might be helpful, I don’t know,” Chan always tries so hard to always be helpful and it’s adorable, Minho is not sure what might be helpful to stop those moments, but maybe having a confirmation that he was real during those moments might help, so he nods.

“You were breathing heavily just like that day you jumped into the pool, but you were not moving,” Chan tries to explain and Minho tries to paint a picture inside his head of what he looked like at that stage, but it just seems so difficult to imagine himself, to see himself, it’s so faraway inside his brain, “I thought you were having another panic attack, but you weren’t uneasy, so I got a bit more worried,” 

“You don’t have to worry it’s pretty constant,” Minho tries on comforting a Chan that looks at him with eyes so filled with feelings, with eyebrows curved in worry, it’s difficult to do so though, only those who have experienced something similar know how it feels, even though it’s different for everyone.

“The fact that it happens often is way more worrying than it being an uncommon thing, Minho,” The comforting fails right there, Minho has a very particular dislike of people being worried about him, like most things it does make him feel weak, he held himself up for so long that seeing concern is scary, it feels like defeat, “It sounds terrifying, what you told me,” 

“It is, I’ll get used to it someday I think,” Minho says, and it’s not entirely a lie. He did get used to most episodes of his, he knows how to force himself to exist when he feels especially depressed and knows how to knock his mania down. All of those by relying on scaping mechanisms, and he just didn’t find his scapegoat out of not feeling real. 

“That shouldn’t be your mindset, you need to find effective ways of actually stopping it from happening,” Chan sounds way too concerned, it almost makes Minho kind of annoyed, but he has heard those things from Changbin before. 

“I think permanent amnesia would work,” Chan frowns, he seems to be a little skeptical which is honestly expected, Chan thinks very differently from Minho, that might be the most prominent difference they have, the way they see the world with different colors and live in realities that are apart, not only on social standards but points of view. The world they see is the same, but the thing that lay on the back of their eyes makes them see it very, very, differently.

“What do you mean?” He asks, still frowning. 

“This is something my brain does to me, if I were to erase its mechanisms it would work normally,” Minho always wondered how it would be to live a memoryless life, he thinks most people do, but all of them feel this need in different levels, Minho might be one of the people that think about that more often. His memories make things more complicated, his memories are complicated, and Minho would rather have no complexity than being so filled with it that the act of existing is something hard and dreadful. 

“Yet, this is not possible,” Chan says, and Minho sighs because he knows he is right, and Minho never sat with someone to discuss his way of approaching how his brain works, and of course all of the things he thinks are illogical, it doesn’t matter how logically Minho tends to think while making small decisions, everything feeling related sounds like gibberish, “I think you already found your scapegoat,”

“And it is?” Minho asks, he’s aware of most of his scapegoats because he tends to make them very regular, to a point it’s impossible not to notice. 

“Underplaying it every single time it happens and never getting active treatment,” And Minho laughs because he feels trapped because he hates where this is going and because he doesn’t want to run away just yet, because he might never allow someone to tell him the real deal again. 

“Do you think, as a famous person, wouldn’t the therapist just leak all about me to the press? I would probably give them more money than I would give with appointments,” Someone would argue that point with a bunch of reasonable points, and Minho would simply deny them, not because he thinks differently and has things backing it up,concur opposite. He doesn’t, he just doesn’t want to lose, lose an argument, lose his self-esteem. 

“They can get arrested for that, you know right?” Chan says, and Minho sighs, it gets difficult, it gets so difficult to avoid being denied. Changbin and Seungmin are not only different from Chan by also seeing the world differently, but their reasoning can be stubborn, because all the three of them are arrogant and stubborn, yet Chan, his main flaw is never being any of those. 

“In which they can pay their way out while I can’t afford my way out of the situation,” Systems are dirty, Minho knows it, he had a lawyer as a father, a man who gained his luxury by lying to others, to his family and to himself. 

“You expect the worst in everyone,” Minho laughs again. Just because. 

“I see it differently, I see the human first and then they prove to be their attributes,” A part of Minho’s arrogance comes from the fact that he had to prove himself a bunch of times, and it just seems unfair that other people don’t have to do it too. They have to show and prove, or else, there can’t be expectations. All the times Minho had expectations from someone, he was disappointed, he was broken. 

“So you think all humans are corrupted?” Chan asks and Minho frowns, there are a bunch of perspectives inside Minho’s mind, those he created based on experiences, those he created by accumulating a lot of different people’s perspectives, the ones he studied deeply for the sake of looking for some kind of explanation. But when it comes to his truth, he doesn’t know if he believes the rational part of René, the reality he saw in others, or the things he assumed by himself. Most of his opinions are sharp, yet none of them reach deep capacity, because he has yet not found the truth. 

“There are some exceptions, yet I rather assume they all are and not get disappointed or fucked up by them,” This comes from experiences, always keeping hopes low, always being cautious, always hiding. His trust might be the hardest thing to ever concour yet the easiest one to lose completely. It’s either black or white, yin or yang, love or hate. No in-between. 

“That doesn’t sound healthy at all,” Chan says, and Minho rolls his eyes, he never cared the slightest about healthy things, simple ones or bigger ones, and he stopped putting things in harmony, it’s tiring. 

“So being healthy is creating good expectations and getting traumatized by people acting the opposite of it,” He claps back and Chan just looks at him, it’s a weird gaze it’s concern yet he seems a little frustrated, Minho came to accept that he’s very frustrating to be around, he noticed it. they are not even a little easy to get along with, to live with, or interact constantly with. It's even harder, sometimes it makes him feel miserable, sometimes he feels lucky, it seems like there’s lesser chances of him getting left behind. Minho is terrified of being lonely which makes him need people but also terrified of being left, which makes him push them away. 

“You see things on either black or white, it’s extremist, and trust issues are called like that because there’s an issue in it,” Minho has never been called an extremist, even though he is, maybe because he has surrounded himself with people that are somewhat similar to him, to a point that him being extreme is the thing they might like the most about him. But is that a good thing or a flaw? 

“I don’t see an issue with being realistic,” Minho says then, his thoughts are not fully completed for this discussion, but he tries to keep a role, “I behave like this based on my reality,”

“I know it’s your reality, and I get that, but you chose it, I hate my reality too, but I know I chose this, we always do,” Chan says, and Minho starts shaking his leg, he’s getting pretty anxious, very much anxious, “Realism and extremism are different Minho, you find excuses to not improve,” And then he’s trapped, in a place where he can’t deny because it’s true and he can agree because that would be a difficult step. Fear of changing always steps in, doesn’t matter the subject. 

“I know I do, fuck, why are you playing the therapist role?” Harshness, defensiveness, truly Minho. 

“Because I care about you, because I have love towards you, and I want you to get better,” Chan sighs, Minho stops staring into a blank spot that doesn’t carry weight, he looks at Chan instantly, he doesn’t know what his face might be expressing, because it feels weird, very weird, listening to things he has heard before but very rarely, listening to something raw, “You don’t have a single idea of how terrifying it is to me, to see you in pain, to see you struggling, I care, Minho, if you don’t want to do it for yourself, do it for me,” And Minho sighs, he wants to cry, again. 

“I’m not used to those things, Chan,” He just gives up, because he could run away he would, but to where? How? He doesn’t know how to get away from the place, the conversation, and he doesn’t know how to leave Chan, he needs but he doesn’t want to, “I’m sorry I’m so difficult to be around, it would be easier if you just got used to it too,” 

“I’m used to it, I like you with all the flaws and issues, I don’t care about my feelings,” Why is Chan like that, Minho questions himself then, why? Why would someone be like that, “It’s not about you making me insane with worry, even though sometimes you do, it’s because I want to see you well, I want to see you happy,” Minho would burst into tears if he wasn’t trying to avoid it, he doesn’t want to be weak, he’s tired of being weak and just turning into crying because words would never fulfill his thoughts. 

“I’m happy when I’m with you,” He says then, and Chan smiles, sadly. Minho bites his bottom lip, and he shakes his leg a little harder now, he needs to express something, anything, he feels like the cup that was once half empty is overflowing, the wall is breaking, crumbling apart and he’s in panic. 

“And that makes me very thankful, but I can't be the reason for your happiness,” Minho wish he could be, he wishes so hard he could be, if he believed in god he would pray, he would beg, he knows it wouldn’t be really happiness, but he wouldn’t care to pretend it is, to ignore the red flags and delude himself into it. He really wouldn’t. 

“But you’re not the only reason, I have my friends and my work,” Minho says, and it’s a consolation both in this conversation but overall, he has to tell himself that every day, just to get himself out of bed.

“Do you feel happy then?” Minho laughs again, it’s like a scape mechanism, for the lack of words, of expressions, and even thoughts. Because every time his brain connects to many pieces, too many thoughts, it seems like everyone is screaming in different unknown languages and that he can never piece it together. 

“I-'' He tries but shuts down, his leg shaking even more now, he feels a weird pain on his muscle when he tries to stop, like if he doesn’t move it would bring an unbearable pain or agony, irrational, but existent, “I… No,” Chan sighs. 

“That’s the point, your life can have all aspects you ever wished for, but if you don’t work on those things that make you miserable, it will never matter,” Chan is never wrong it seems, he just keeps most things to himself, if Minho ever were like him he would be a motivational speaker, but then, Chan doesn’t need that constant public attention, he doesn’t need to prove he knows things to anyone. Minho does. 

“This sucks,” It’s simple, but in the middle of a bunch of gibberish is the best he can do.

“I know,” Chan says, and his hand that is on Minho’s thigh, that Minho has totally forgotten about gives him a little comforting squeeze, “It took me a while to try because no even one aspect of my life was good, but I tried working on those frustrations and traumas, I’m not fully done yet but, better,” Minho is proud of him, what he is, what he has become, because something tells him Chan wasn’t like that always, something tells him there’s something inside Chan that might be similar to him, it’s just well buried. 

“I envy you sometimes,” Minho says sincerely, he really does, he doesn’t know if he rather has Chan or be like Chan, it’s a difficult concept, “You are a bird in a cage but you don’t act like it, yet I’m free and but I don’t know where I’m flying, it feels like I’m trapped still”

“Freedom is not having your own life, is owning it, I feel trapped and terrible, a lot, sometimes it explodes, but I try to deal with it,” Minho has never seen Chan explode, maybe he’s very good at hiding it, it seems weird to imagine Chan crumbling apart too, since all he has done is to be strong and supportive, like a guardian angel. But everyone does suffer, Minho sometimes is scared of Chan underplaying his feelings too, when they’re together at least. He dodges that conversation he could have right now, the trip is already making Chan feel bad at times because 0f him, it would be terrible to make him sad about himself too. 

“I can’t imagine myself dealing with those things, I don’t see myself happy, I don’t see myself trying, I feel as if I have to be miserable to be me,” If the question were to describe him completely, that could do it. 

“Why so?” Chan asks, and that’s tough to think about, Minho bites his lips, blinking quickly trying to create a single reasonable thing to say out of the thousands of options that would include an explanation of a life that feels longer than it is, a collection of information and stories to big to fit inside or a conversation, maybe even a book. 

“It’s a mixture of things, not knowing who I am, not liking who I am, guilt from the things I have done, feeling like I don’t deserve good stuff,” Is the thing Minho comes up with, only concepts, no explanations.

“Yet you do, everyone does, and guilt is not supposed to be your enemy, it’s something good, that you cannot lack, the problem is what you do about it,” Minho frowns to himself, not to Chan, because that is somewhat helpful and Minho wishes that could stick and fix all the broken, “The only cure for guilt is changing, using it to learn, to never do it again, learn to forgive yourself is part of the process,” 

“Why does life have to have all those processes? It’s too overly complicated,” He sounds childish, but it’s true, life is too difficult, to almost anyone, and those who carry luggage can find it so unlivable that they give up, either by giving in to an unhealthy method or simply, finishing it, until there’s nothing inside anymore, until there’s nothing outside too. Just simply rooting in peace, because bodies never rest. 

“It is indeed, but if you keep running away from them it will make things even more complicated,” Chan says then, it’s true but running away is very, very easy, at least for Minho it has been “And not giving the time they need also makes it worse, those things can take forever,” Maybe one day Minho will not have a place to run, a place to stay hidden, maybe he will die unbloomed. 

“And I’m especially slow,” 

“You’re not going to be perfect, Minho, it will never happen, all of us make mistakes, all of us have feelings that are complex, some more than others,” The hand squeezes his thigh again, tighter now, “We shall not seek perfection but welfare,”

“You talk like a motivational book,” Minho tries to clean the mood, just a little bit, just so he can process that things are being said, and that things make sense, even though they sound impossible. 

“I’m just not nihilistic,” Chan says and Minho laughs after it.

“You think I’m a nihilist?” He asks, with a giggly tone, maybe if he was a character he would be included in the nihilist category. 

“I don’t think you are necessarily nihilist, I just feel like you act like one,”

“I like existentialism actually,” Minho is more of a philosophy nerd than people expect, actually they don’t expect that from him at all, but yet he is, “I just don’t use it as much,” 

“I think you do, the good parts of egoism, you have those,” Minho giggles. It's an interesting compliment that he takes very well, most compliments are about his appearance not his character. 

“The only thing I lack is that individualism includes loving yourself, living well with yourself, I’m not very into it,” 

“One must have chaos within oneself to create a dancing star,” Chan quotes, and Minho smiles at him, Chan never brags about himself, or his smarts, the way he’s intelligent in almost every aspect, sometimes Minho tends to forget it, because he never speaks about it, it’s a fun reminder that Minho fell in love with him because of much deeper reasons. 

“One of my favorite quotes from him,” 

“Which one is your favorite?”

“If you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back into you,” Minho remembers the first time he read it, when he finally got to the part of philosophy he liked, it was a moment of understanding and with that, quite triggering, “I think I stared for too long,” 

“And you’re the only one that can stop staring, the abyss is always going to be there, you just have to make the choice, to keep staring or stop,” Chan says, and that could be the thing Minho lives by, instead of just relating to the pain and accepting it as a part of him, instead of pointing the fingers. 

Minho wishes he could be able to stop staring into the abyss to let the chaos make him the shining star, but there’s something comforting to believe that nothing matters that everything is going to be gone, that things are fast and destroying, a comfort he needs to stay alive, to keep breathing. If nothing matters and he will die anyway he will never need to change, he will never have to deal, he will never have rules. 

Being free is tricky, so tricky, you can have and be anything you want, but is it ever enough for your brain? Any place you look at is different. Being beautiful is not fulfilling if you’re not happy, being rich is not fulfilling if you’re not happy, and if you don’t have them, you cannot be completely happy too. To imagine that happiness feels like it will only happen with perfection yet to know perfection doesn’t exist. To be happy you must be strong, but to be strong you have to learn, that to be strong is not to deal but accept, and sometimes to accept is to reach rock bottom. But then where's the strength to get you out of the bottom.

All humans grow up a little bit miserable, because we all know we’re going to die, some things were created for you to believe in, so life isn’t as painful knowing it’s going to end. But that is escaping too, when everything is life and death and when everything is difficult and barely impossible, the only escape might be deluded or miserable without a single care. It’s terrifying, that when Minho thinks about life, he can’t find a corner that seems right. To know that nothing is ever going to be fully okay haunts him, like an obsessive ghost. 

Minho looks at Chan while his mind is in a constant conflict of how to exist with no pain, and he realizes, Chan has been the most bittersweet escape of his, and like most things it will end, of course it will, it’s just terrible because it’s not a choice. He and Chan are a concept close to death, to believe they can be together is a delusion, it’s irreal, and to know and remind yourself that there’s an end is excruciating. There’s never an easy way out, it doesn’t matter how much you plan and trick yourself. 

“It pains me,” Minho says out of the blue, with not much thought into it.

“What?” Chan says, caught by surprise by Minho speaking, they’re used to having comfortable silences. 

“That I can’t have you forever,” He says then, he could throw up all his thoughts about the world to Chan, and those would be pointless, because talking about the circle of life is like watching an old movie, you already know how it ends, “That I will never find you on someone else,” Minho wants Chan to know in some way what he means to Minho, that might be the wrong way, but there’s something always melancholic about how Minho speaks. 

“It pains me too,” Chan says, and Minho almost wants so say, not as much as it pains me, but he doesn’t know, he’s not sure, “I don’t want us to be dependent on each other, in which we are, but I also don’t want to have to spend my days without you,” Another complex concept in living, dependence, when are things good and when is it delusion, no one might know. 

“It’s going to be easier to replace me, there’s a bunch of mentally ill sexy models out there,” Minho tries lightening the mood again, just so things aren’t that depressive, or melancholic, “But where can I find my kind giant?”

“You’re not replaceable, you will never be,” Minho smiles at him, and something inside his heart seems to heat up, and it’s a good feeling and comfort, to think Minho will be something Chan could never have again, it makes him feel less lonely, even though that might sound egotistical “And you don’t have to find me again, you can find someone better, someone, available,” 

“I don’t want them,” Availability is not enough, Minho would say, but it’s too complicated. 

“You might want them someday,” Chan tries to be comforting, it could be if Minho didn’t know his patterns so well, sadly he does know all the things his brain does, he’s too hyper aware of his ways. 

“I tried before,” Minho notes, and he remembers it clearly, and something tells him it will happen again, he really does. 

“What?” Chan says, “You tried looking for someone else?”

“Not quite, I’m not looking for love” Even though he found it accidentally, “I tried kissing someone who looked like you, I tried so hard to feel something, anything,” He doesn’t even like kissing, but he felt the need, a need that wasn’t fulfilled, “But I didn’t, it wasn’t you,” 

“I’m here for now, and I will be one call away, always, even if it’s years, you can call me,” That’s not very good, because he would do that, and he knows that he won’t be able to stop himself from doing it. 

“That won’t help,” Nothing will ever help, will it? “Which perfume do you use?” 

“Why?” Chan laughs with the randomness of the question, that is weirdly not random, “Versace Eros,” 

“If I ever have to be away from you, I’ll buy it,” He will buy it sooner, because his head will miss him before going to bed when he comes back home, and when he wakes up in the bed alone, when he eats and it’s not Chan’s food, when he drinks whiskey but isn’t sharing, when he feels like watching a movie but the couch is too empty. 

“Why?” Chan is giggly still, which is cute, if he only knew how Minho feels about him, if he could break inside Minho’s head and look at himself the way Minho does, that would be the only way he could understand how not random it is, how his brief words are not even the tip at the top of an iceberg. 

“It’s your scent, I’m in love with the way you smell, I can kiss whoever I want but it won’t matter, they will never smell like you,” It sounds dumb, but it was the first thing Minho ever missed about Chan, something so small compared to all the reasons he has today, but the first one ever. 

“You do like smelling me, I realized,” Chan says, and he’s still giggling, Minho will miss that giggle too, and he feels like crying again, maybe someday years from now he would miss it so much it will consume him, so much it will kill him. It 's intense. 

“You should’ve, it made me incredibly embarrassed in the beginning,” The beginning seems like a thousand years from now, even though not much has changed, but that Minho that was terrified of being touched is long gone, that Minho that was afraid of touching, smelling, kissing, is gone too. He will never accept things completely, it just seems like not real, but he’s glad he accepted those small things, because he carries them close to heart, close to home, wherever home is. 

“That’s why I never said anything, you would get defensive,” Chan says, and Minho laughs, he can imagine himself getting lost in words if Chan ever told him he realized the slight weaknesses he let out that could be linked to love, he can imagine himself denying it and getting very, very pissed, by very little. 

“If I told you before that I was in love with your scent you would’ve giggled,” And Chan giggles with that, Minho just can’t contain the need to keep smiling “See? You always giggle when you’re embarrassed,” Chan nods while smiling, he’s deadly adorable “Sometimes you blush too, which is cute,”

“I don’t realize when I blush,” Chan says, seeming surprised, and he touches his cheeks to feel if he is blushing or now right now, if he were Minho would’ve pointed it out. 

“I always do, I especially like the way your nose gets all red,” It’s one of the things about his face that Minho loves the most actually, the redness of his nose, and how sometimes it gets a little more flushed with pink, when he’s either embarrassed, cold or very horny, “You have a beautiful nose,”

“Really?” Chan says frowning and instantly touches the tip of his nose, and Minho’s head thinks “Bop” and he feels both dumb and warm, what loving should feel like, “I find it a little to big,”analyzing

“Nope, it’s perfect,” Minho says with a smug, he will defend Chan’s nose at all costs, “I find it beautiful, and you have plump lips to go with it, and the small eyes give it harmony,” It sounds like he’s a beauty professional, in which he isn’t, he just spent so long analysing Chan’s face that if he ever went missing he would be able to give a perfect description to file a face composition. 

“Thank you?” Chan giggles, his nose gets redder and Minho doesn’t tell him, he just appreciates the adorableness of the pinkish tones, “I’ve never thought much about my appearance, I just knew I wanted to build more muscle,”

“Yet you rarely show them off,” Minho says, “We are so much opposites on that, I need to look good, dress good and I need people to notice it,” And maybe that’s why Minho gave up on designing to become a model, and lost his passion for drawing and art to become art on itself, people rather look at people wearing clothes that people making. His need for attention has always been there, and it bloomed. 

“It works for you, but if I were to describe you, it’s one of the last things I would talk about,” 

“What would you say?” Minho is not curious because he wants to be praised, he’s curious because no one has been there before, not even himself, he never was the one to express actual qualities and attributes about himself that weren’t self deprecating or shallow. 

“That you’re smart, sharp, rebellious, funny, and freeing,” Chan says, like it’s nothing, “You’re kind and caring, and you get worried and stressed very easily, I would say you’re in a lot of pain, and that you’re very strong,” Minho shuts him down with a kiss, because there’s nothing going thought his mind to say back, and silence isn’t fitting, he expresses that he’s glad by kissing Chan like it’s their less, and wetting his cheek with a single inconvenient tear that has been dropped once again, because he couldn’t hold it.

Chan cooks him breakfast and Minho doesn’t throw himself in the pool which is rather an improvement, Chan likes American breakfasts it seems, Minho likes British ones better which make people really quite disgusted unless they’re british, “If I had Vegemite you would’ve been eating it on toast,” Chan says, when both plates are done and in the counter, Chan sitting on one side and Minho on the other.

“I think Vegemite is Nutella made from hell,” Minho says back, while biting on bacon, which is something he haven’t had in a while, his mother hated pork very much, and Minho just grew up not eating it much, even though most korean dishes have it. 

“You have a sweet tooth, so your opinion is dismissed,” Chan claps back.

“You’re australian, Chan, which means you live in the only country in the world that likes Vegemite,” Minho says, cutting the eggs with a smile on his goddamn face, “No opinion either,” 

“This is not fair, us Australians have sharper taste buds, I can’t prove it but you can’t disprove it either,” Minho laughs because Chan is dumb. 

“What creates sharp taste buds? Seeing deadly animals every day?” 

“Actually yes, we have evolved to have stronger bodies so we can fight the devil kangaroos and the giant spiders, I did those almost every day,” Minho laughs again.

“No but really, have you ever seen scary animals?” Minho gets the creeps imagining the spiders and the kangaroos, he hates the idea of an animal having eight legs and being big enough to be scary but small enough to get into a hole, and the idea of a standing animal that likes to punch is also very much not okay. 

“Mostly spiders, you learn to not be afraid of them, but every time I saw a snake I would pass out,” Minho tries to imagine himself not being afraid of spiders but it doesn’t click, he’s terrified of them.

“Snakes are actually my favorite animal,” Minho says, “Alongside with cats, someday I’m getting myself a pet snake,” Named Versace, Minho adds mentally, or Gianni, it depends on how she looks. 

“Never invite me to your house if you do someday,” Chan says dramatically and he sounds frightened, which is adorable, Chan being that huge man and being terrified of snakes is just beyond funny. 

“Stop being such a pussy!” Minho says while laughing and Chan smiles.

“Would you visit me if I had a pet spider?”

“No, but spiders are different, they can escape and end up around me,” And Minho shivers even thinking about spiders walking around his body, he fucking hates insects. 

“Snakes can run away too, dumbass, and they’re gigantic,” 

“Stop overreacting there’s a bunch of snakes, I could give you a leisure on the snakes you can have at home and how cool they are,” 

“And I would gladly listen,” Chan says and Minho smiles at him.

They finish their breakfast quickly, and Chan does cook things beautifully, he’s skilled at everything which sometimes is frustrating because Minho wants to have a flaw list too, but he doesn’t. Sometimes he feels a little intimidated by Chan, knowing he’s much better than him in everything, it’s an unconscious thought but it lingers around sometimes. 

“What are we going to do today?” Minho asks simply, stretching his arms up because he still feels a bit tired anyways, and he normally naps after eating but napping would be a crime when he has Chan around him. Even though sleeping with him again wouldn’t be bad, he’s warm and holds him very tightly. Their bodies fit together very well, as weird as it might sound. 

“I have no absolute clue actually, I didn’t have time to plan activities,” Chan says and Minho scratches the back of his head, trying to come up with something but his activities are sleeping, getting drunk and talking about sad stuff basically. 

“Is there something loud for us to listen to, maybe?” Minho asks, “Just to let you know I like very sad songs we might end up crying,” Chan laughs at him.

“It's better than listening to Ed Sheeran, which is my hobby,” Minho makes a face to him.

“You like Ed Sheeran?” He asks and Chan giggles while nodding, “I waited more from you,” Chan pouts at him and Minho just smiles, “I’m going to show you what music really is about,” 

Minho finds out by Chan that the whole house has a music system connected by bluetooth and of course it has, it’s a house Chan chose and with all it’s luxury that is certainly expected, “Have you ever heard Ed Sheeran thinking of me?” Minho asks just to make fun of Chan and is quite surprised by him nodding.

“You would be surprised to know that Ed Sheeran has a lot of songs about us, and I have a whole playlist,” Minho looks at him dumbfounded. 

“You made me a playlist?” He asks and Chan suddenly blushes, his lips turning into a line and Minho wants to explode because that’s probably one of the cutest most dumbest things someone did for him. 

“Kinda,” Chan says while looking a little bit nervous and Minho starts laughing at him.

“You did!” He points his finger at him and Chan just looks at it still blushing and it’s fucking adorable, just to imagine Chan sitting down and putting thought into a playlist makes him want to scream and start running around like he’s crazy, it’s so weird of a feeling, but it’s there, “Honestly, and this is coming from me, this is so gay of you,” 

“Thank you?” Chan giggles, and Minho has a slight flashback of Chan talking about actually being gay and he feels a little cold feeling on his stomach, but he decides to shake his head around to forget it, “I’m a hopeless romantic, I’m sorry,”

“I think it’s a musician thing, the hopeless romantic,” Minho says then, and adjusts himself in the couch, putting a pillow in between his legs, “My best friend, Changbin, he’s a hopeless romantic too, almost all his songs are love songs, and even the ones that aren’t have small aspects of it,” Chan nods while making a little pout with his lips.

“Maybe because music is a passion and it flourishes when you are passionate about something else, or someone,” Chan explains and it makes a lot of sense, “But also I think the best songs are not about loving, but about not being loved back, pain is beautiful when it’s being sang, or played,” 

“You have a point… Changbin writes about heartbreaks, well, I was very unlucky to hear some of them,” A sharp squeeze on his heart is present, the darkest of lovers was not the first time he had to hear someone sing about him, but it was probably one of the kindest of them, even though it was raw. 

“It’s not very cool when songs are about you,” Chan lets out a awkward laugh, and Minho understands it because he does it too, it’s a panic mechanism, to remember all those times when something so beautiful as music became a thing to real to be enjoyed, “But it’s very cool to listen songs that explain your situation, I have one for you,” 

“Which is?” Minho asks casually, he has his own collection of songs that resemble himself, those he plays loudly to be tortured by truth or comforted by it, there’s a thin line between listening to a sad song that resembles you, it’s between feeling shameful and triggered, uneasy by remembering all of those things once again, brought back to surface, and there’s the other side of this border, the one when you feel like you’re being expressed, understood, and not alone. That’s why Minho goes to melancholic songs and relatable ones, the bittersweet feel of being exposed yet held. 

“Homewrecker,” Chan says, and Minho stops staring at Chan’s face to stare into his eyes, it’s a weird feeling just to hear the title, it seems very fitting, and it might be worse to hear the whereabouts, “It’s from a british singer called Marina, I came across it by accident, and it struck me,” 

“Is it on my playlist?” Minho asks, to fill up the empty space to fill up the conversation with something more meaningless, just so his head gets in shape to keep talking and interacting without feeling completely terrible, it’s not worse than having a song being made for you, but having someone dedicating you a song that might be too real is not the best of situations either, Minho is scared of something painful being related to him, not by himself but by someone else. 

“It is… Once I know the songs you like the playlist might be even bigger, I think you listen to deeper songs than I do,” Chan says, and yes he’s probably right, Minho really likes dark and raw content and as he knows Chan likes Ed Sheeran, “I’m not very into songs that make me extremely sad, I don’t like being sad,”

“Weirdly enough, it seems like I do,” And Minho really does, and he could create a whole book just to explain how much he’s attached to sadness, melancholy and misery, and why he is like that. It’s quite tiring to be such a big collection of situations, Minho wishes he didn’t know how many things feel like, so he would be less lost, he’s too wise and too familiar with bad situations, to a point that he’s unable to separate good and bad, he wishes to be beyond good and evil. 

“Show me your stuff before I embarrass myself with my love for you,” Love is a deep word that Chan used twice that day, Minho gets nervous about it being thrown around, he’s not sure of the deepness of it, he will never be sure about the deepness of it, if it’s light it’s a waste and if it’s not light it makes him panic, Minho would like to forget about that word, forever. 

Minho has no absolute clue of what to show Chan, not only because he doesn’t know where to start, since he’s obsessed with some artists, and also because it’s few those that he really likes, yet he likes almost every song and he could do essays in which one. That’s the reason Minho rarely talks about his interests, he’s way too deep about it, way too intense and way too obsessed and, well, most people are not like him.  
“What do you want to hear?” He asks, thinking about all the options and how they would spend literal days trying to figure everything out, how it would take a lot of time and effort to fully express the complexity of who he is with songs and to explain what they could mean to him, because most of them mean a lot, and Minho once again feels like he has to justificate all his backstory just to show a simple song to someone. 

“Something you hear most often? Like your favorite song?” Minho sighs, trying to come up with something, he grabs his phone and scrolls down his songs, it’s funny the abundance of songs and the way most of them are from the same artist, Minho has manic episodes in which he listens to one song, one album or one artist for days, months or even years. And he knows where to start, it just takes him a while to choose. 

“Ok, I don’t have a favorite song, but I do have a favorite artist, in which I relate to literally every single song, which makes me choosing one a very difficult task because I have some favorites depending on mood and year and also because I relate to them all I’m not able to choose the one I relate the most,” There goes the first monologue and Minho is already regretting asking to listen to music, because well, he sometimes forgets how weird and particular he is about almost every single thing. 

“From the head right now if I asked you the one you relate the most, without much thought which one would it be?” Chan asks to give a little bit of help, and it’s weird that he seems very sincere in knowing what Minho likes, Minho thinks fast.

“Brand new city?” Minho says out of the blue and then frowns to himself, “Can I choose another one?” He says and Chan giggles.

“Nope, start with a brand new city and then go from it,” Minho nods. 

He gets startled when it starts, and he listens to Mitski’s voice echoing around the whole house, “I think my brain is rooting in places”, it’s quite amazing actually, to hear it out in the speakers and not inside his head like when he has headphones. With a second perspective, which is Chan’s who’s listening to it bopping his head and paying close attention, Minho realizes that maybe, just maybe, his musical taste is to heavy to be enjoyed by two people and that maybe it’s very self exposing to play it like that, without the feeling of it being just him, himself and a voice that tells him about himself. 

Brand new city is one of Minho’s anthems, and it goes very deep if he tries to explain why or how it became what it is for him. He remembers first getting into Mitski but never diving too deeply, it started with the songs where it talks about unrequited love and being lonely, it was a comforting type of relatable song. He drove deeper one day, just because, and he ended up on her first album, and at first glance without caring much about the words being said, it was quite upbeat, close to most of his favorite songs. Or so he thought, because after listening to it closely he fell into the deep black hole of something being too relatable to handle, a wonderful concept, yet very, very unsettling at first. 

He always felt like his brain was rooting, or already rotten, no only because it was filled with thoughts so dark and destructive, not only because his point of view was blurred like he was wearing sunglasses all the time, everything seeming faded, unreacheable and uncolored. But because his brain keeps malfunctioning, doing things it shouldn’t, Minho’s brain makes him feel not real, lost, it shouts at him things he doesn’t want to hear, it stops him from achieving something more than shallow success. His mind’s eye no longer sees things beyond, it feels like it’s looping between difficult situations making him insane.

Feeling like his heart is ready to die, that his body is falling in pieces and his blood is passing him by, is so constant it happened that morning. Those moments that seem to last longer than they do where nothing is real, his body is dying his heart is ready to stop at any given moment, when it seems like there’s something inside his bloodstream, he feels disconnected with his body, and it’s terrible that it never fully passes, he still feels it lightly, every single time of his day. Brand new city reminds him of his addiction, all those days lost by losing his consciousness and hurting himself, pointless, dangerous, unforgettable. 

If I gave up on being pretty I wouldn’t know how to be alive. True desperation, it always hits, on her voice, inside of Minho who’s hearing, what is he other than a troubled beauty, avoiding being captured being human, avoiding being heard but seeking being seen, Minho so desperately needs people to see his outsides, the beauty, the figure, because inside it’s ugly and raw, not worth being seen. Minho sometimes is afraid of saying anything, because it seems like his words could tear his doll living apart. 

Minho suddenly gets up and walks towards the big fuzzy rug on the floor, he just lays down there while Mitski bursts out of the speakers, the rug is very soft against the skin of his arms and his bare legs. It’s funny to think he planned outfits for all the days and ended up wearing Chan’s boxers and shirts. Minho closes his eyes, arms spread over the rug. He wants to cry and he wants to scream, it’s weird though, he doesn’t do either.

When the song ends Minho moves around to reach for his phone, “Just let the random do it’s thing,” Chan says, and Minho nods laying down again, with his eyes open he looks at Chan from the floor and just moves his head forward asking for Chan to lay down with him. 

Chan lays right next to him over the white rug, his head lightly over Minho’s arm, he can almost feel his warmth from that distance. It’s reassuring, Minho never listened to Mitski with someone other than himself and everyone that seems to be living inside his head, sharing the same consciousness, never fully getting in sync. 

Drunk Walk Home comes next and Minho sighs. I’ll retire to the salton sea, at age of 23, from I’m starting to learn I might never be free, “Fuck you and your money,” Minho sings along with her, and he signs again, there’s something on her voice, on almost every song she sings, almost every single song, there’s some despair Minho wishes he could ever could put in words, and they just bottle up on his throat taking every possible direction but never getting anywhere.

Most things are left unsaid, most of feelings are left unfelt, most of his life was left unlived, trying to find ways and more ways to avoid ever feeling like someone who exists, he has found every single getaway from the concept of being alive. From addiction to addiction, years and years of avoidance, all those years dripping off his skin, Minho feels like he’s melting, melting away all the things he locked inside with a thousand keys.

Life is terrifying, it doesn’t matter how good it might be, there’s always an anxiety lingering from the day that comes after that good one, there’s always this uncertainty that all things might be ruined when you wake up. Everything fades away with time, people leave, and Minho unconsciously chose to pretend they don’t. Until it’s too late, too late to say, to feel, to live. 

One day he wants all of that to come out, to find something that actually takes away the height, but even that is terrifying. The knowledge that the only one that can do that is yourself, and that for yourself to reach what you so desperately need is to try, to open up, to be, to exist, to accept that you’re living, and someday, you’re gone. 

He wants to reach a point that everything that clogs his throat, making him unable to breathe, like flowers are growing and dying inside his lungs filling up all the space, he wants those flowers to get out of his throat, to have life coming out of his mouth, to face reality, to bloom, to grown, to be free, really free. I don't want to die unbloomed, he thinks. 

“I think she’s very similar to you,” Chan says out of the blue, and Minho opens his eyes, rolling his head to the side to look at him, watching the lines of his face, the nose, the lips, the eyes glaring at the sealing. 

“I relate to almost everything she has ever written,” Minho says, “I think that’s why I get so fixated on her songs, she says all the things I wish I could,” 

“I realize you find it quite difficult to open up, even though you do a lot with me, I can feel how much talking frightens you,” Minho months back would feel bad about being seen, to know someone realizes that he’s afraid, yet know, it’s comforting, in a weird way, to feel scared and heard, it’s humanizing in some way. 

“I let things out a lot around you, I honestly don’t know where I’m going to put all the words inside when you’re gone,” Minho says while sighing, “Who I’m going to call, but also I feel a little bad to throw stuff to you, it’s like you’re dealing with my life for me,” 

“But I’m not, you’re dealing with your life by saying and recognizing everything that is wrong,” Minho puts his lips into a line, considering what he’s saying, Minho fears that Chan might be underplaying the effect Minho has on him, Minho doesn’t want someone to carry his luggage too, “You’ll always have someone who will listen, you can talk to yourself, your friends, maybe a professional, don’t close up again when I leave, really,” 

“Me and my friends are not reliable, we three allow each other, it’s unhealthy, I know,” He didn’t before, before he realized he kept going towards the rock bottom, that all his steps to the top were useless, when he had his face on the cold floor, he knew, “It’s actually sad that we can’t help each other, but it’s that we need to help ourselves before anything,” 

“I hope someday every single one of you find peace within yourselves, I don’t know them, but I know you, I know it’s important,” Minho smiles, it’s good to know that someone cares about them, they have always lacked support, and maybe that’s it, three can’t stay together without a base, something strong to stand on, when you live your life fighting and fighting for yourself alone, it’s tiring. 

“We are lost souls bonded together, if none of us is found, we will stay there, connected yet empty,” Minho says, and he feels a sting on his heart, nothing pains him more than their pain, and they have loads of it, “I feel guilty, I’m the oldest, I should have known better, I wish I could help, hold their hands and never let go,” 

“But then you wouldn’t exist on your own, I know it might make you crazy, that you’re unable to help those you want to protect, but you can’t take their pain away, and if you could, it would be stored inside you, you can’t get heavier,” That’s one of the reasons Minho hates being human, he has to deal with his stuff too, he has to feel, he has to have responsibilities over himself, he wishes to be just a being that lingers around, taking unnecessary things from people, but never feeling it too. 

“It seems like all conversations just go back into my brain grieving that I’m a human too, that I have to do something,” It’s a heavy weight to carry, being alive, yet it's terrifying to give up on life completely, Minho wanted courage to give in, to fade away into the air, to no longer exist among the living. 

“It’s not as difficult if you learn to tell yourself that you can,” Chan says then, his voice soft as clouds and the summer breeze, “I tell myself every day that I’m able, that I’m lucky that I’m physically capable of almost everything,” Chan let’s out, and it’s beautiful to imagine him, teeling himself into the mirror that he can do it, even though his life isn’t what he wanted, even though he doesn’t have many space to grown, “You are too, if you let yourself,” 

“I-“ Minho wants to say, but he doesn’t, he rolls to the side, and curls on the side of Chan’s body, his head placed on his strong arm, he smells like his perfume, Minho puts his arm around Chan’s waist, and Chan readjusts himself to put his arm around Minho’s head. Minho shoves his head on the side of Chan’s chest. 

“I will” start playing. A song Minho thought he might never relate to in the context it was made, maybe towards his friends, but never towards someone else. So stay with me, hold my hand, there’s no need to be brave. All the quiet nights you bare seal them up with care, no one needs to know they’re here, for I will hold them for you. 

“Cause all I ever wanted is here,” Minho sings against Chan’s shirt, “All I ever wanted, all I want is, always you, always you,” He’s not the worst of singers, and even if he was, even if his voice sounded like nails against the black board, it will be meaningless, Minho just wants her words to be his, because they seem like it, they feel like it, and Minho wants Chan to hear, loud and clear, straight from the dark caves inside. 

“And while you sleep, I’ll be scared,” Minho sings with his whole heart, feeling the vibrations of his voice knocking against his chest and throat, his body is roaring with him, roaring honesty, shaking while his heart is exposed, even though those are words he didn’t come up with, “So by the time you wake, I’ll be brave,” And that’s a very odd way of saying, I think I love you, but Minho never opted for the right ways anyway. 

Chan made Minho bolder, and he thought once he was one of the boldest, Chan made Minho braver, and he once thought he was invincible, with his ignorance and avoidance, closing his eyes to the reality and staying disconnected he thought once he was right. Minho rarely admits he’s wrong, yet with no hesitation, he’s sure he was. 

Chan is not the bringer of the truth, he’s not a celestial being, as gorgeous as he might look, as serene and shiny his eyes are, he’s no more than human with flesh, blood and bones. Living and breathing. But Chan has his eyes wide open, living by no rules is nothing more than a meaningless rebellious choice, it doesn’t matter to create your own, if those are also harmful. 

He didn’t bring the light of something more than a simple human, allowing himself to feel, to break and to rebuild. It’s not that Chan completely changed Minho’s views, like something you worship and live by, he might also be wrong about his way of living. 

But Chan brought a getaway, and Chan introduced him to someone crucial, someone long forgotten, overlooked and silenced. Someone who chose to stay hidden away, while telling people everything that is on the surface is real. Chan introduced Minho to himself, the human, Minho, the living, breathing, with flesh, blood and bones. He’s no longer an untouchable doll, at least sometimes. And maybe the smaller steps might be the ones that lead him closer and closer to the door, that he still has to open.

The answer is not inside the door, there’s a final piece to the puzzle outside of it, maybe the finishing piece you lost under your couch and forgot about it, only to be remembered when you try to piece it together and it’s missing. Minho lost way too many pieces, some under the fridge, others under the couch, some that were dropped out of the box. On his way to the door, Minho has to pick them up.

He chose to not look for them, being comforted by being missing, empty, incomplete, and when he saw them, he ignored it. Life can no longer be a puzzle with missing pieces or with replacements that don’t completely fit, Minho might never be complete, and probably most of us fade away before the puzzle is finished. But he wants to at least have something, a base he’s fairly content with, misery is a choice you make. And most times it’s unfixable, yet it’s still a choice you can give up on. 

Mitski keeps playing, like it does inside Minho’s head most of the time, but now Chan shares that moment with him, and he might be the only person he might share his moment with, and that’s fine. Minho doesn’t want to share it with someone else, and not because they’re not Chan. It’s just that it will be meaningless, Minho doesn’t want to be the same person he is right now, so he doesn’t want to open this up again, he has to be healed. 

One day all those feelings inside of him, all those songs that are relatable will be nostalgic, to represent something he once felt, once haunted him, a correlation of the old Minho. Like his favorite animal he wants to sheed out of his skin, and to be brand new once again, but he also has to accept that shedding times are rough and uncomfortable, that it’s painful, stressing, draining, but a new beginning will arrive, Minho has to remember himself everyday that shedding times are going to end. 

“I need to go further than they said I would go,” Minho sings along to Jobless Monday, that’s one of the only parts he resonates with him still, it’s never the final step, never the final moment, he has to go so much further. 

The whole morning is wasted with Minho singing songs that seem to be made for him, giving Chan brief explanations, he explained how much Cop Car is something he felt so many times, the shout of “I will never die” were all those days feeling all his organs pulsing, yet no pain, no regret, just a restlessness inside his racing heart. A remedy. 

Minho feels bad with almost every be the cowboy song that plays, it just makes him think of Jisung again and again and again, and it’s an addictive game, to listen, to remember, to feel the aching heart trumbling apart, never as terrifying as the first time yet agonizing. Minho has an odd addiction of torturing himself with his own memories. 

Dan the dancer is to Changbin, cause dreaming costs money, my dear too. The passion awake in clear inside his mind still, he can’t still smell the fire and the ashes on his hair after everything combusted, after he burned out the whole forest of Changbin’s heart, and the exploding flames burned his skin, leaving back ugly scars, shameful scars of a tragedy so avoidable yet so difficult to fight. 

A burning hill could be about so many things and so many people it’s pure misery, a song so painful, so powerful and desperate, it’s Minho at his core, nothing to put or to take. He’s the forest fire, and the ashes after it, and he’s burning and burning, his skin is melting and aching yet he’s watching himself from third person, standing in the same small flame, burning and burning, with no fighting, just screams and cries. Minho allows himself to keep burning. 

His heart feels less heavy by the end of the morning and the start of the noon, he thinks he might’ve napped over a few songs. Chan might’ve napped too, he stayed quiet sometimes he would rum, sometimes he would say wow or ask something like, “What’s the name of this song?” “Is that part in english?” He sounded so curious, Minho liked it. Chan must understand music more than Minho, who focuses on bass and lyrics. He wants to be inside Chan’s head and realize the theory part of it too.

Chan cooks them lunch, and Minho cries while cutting onions this time which is both funny and pathetic, and that’s the definition of domestic isn’t it, it’s dumb and pathetic comfort, that doesn’t affect much, but works. Minho is too driven to think that makes too much of an effect, never the simplest ones. Chan is teaching him a little about small human comforts like he’s a robot trying to connect a little more with its owners. 

“Did you like her?” Minho asks after lunch when they’re sitting outside on the resting chairs by the pool, smoke from both of their cigarettes mending together on the air, they decide to start drinking soon today, so two cups of whiskey are over the table between the chairs. 

“I loved her,” Chan says then, and smokes his cigarette before saying anything else, Minho watches him carefully, excited to hear what he has to say, which is dumb, he never cared if people also enjoy his interests. But it’s Chan, it’s different somehow, “Can you speak english?” 

“Roughly, but I can understand it completely, I also can write english too,” Minho says simply, and takes a small sip of whiskey that goes down burning his throat, that’s his favorite part of whiskey, the first cups are painful and pleasing, and then it just goes and goes, “I’m trilingual, I can also speak french,”

“Of course you do,” Chan giggles and Minho smiles while frowning. 

“Why so?” He asks.

“You seem like a person who speaks french,” Minho laughs, because actually if someone saw him on the streets he does, it fits his aesthetic, yet based on personality Minho would categorize as a russian speaker, and that doesn’t need further explanations in his mind, because it doesn’t have any further explanations. 

“Because I’m a model?” Minho asks while grinning and Chan moves his head around probably thinking of a comeback.

“Weirdly enough, yes,” 

“Common misconceptions, but not so much on my case,” He knows French because he really likes French movies, especially Amelie Poulain, in which he will not admit “Models and fashion in general have a big french influence, even though it doesn’t really make sense, since most very famous fashion designers are all around the world, yet the most known, like Dior, Chanel, Ysl are French,” 

“Are they your inspiration?” Chan asks curiously and Minho pouts while thinking, he has so many inspirations, it’s quite difficult to ever think of one single thing that inspired him the most since he has a huge collection of mixed inspirations that never leave his mouth or his head, one of the struggles he had to design things years ago and ended up giving up. 

“My favorite is Versace, I wanted to design like them, Iris Van Herpen too, but I like the French aesthetic,” Minho comes up with, after a long second of deliberation and probably if someone asked him the same question tomorrow his opinion might have changed completely, it’s just the way he is, and always has been. Contradictory.

“It suits you,” Minho likes to imagine himself being related to something as powerful and bold as Versace, or something as dynamic and unique as Isis’, yet nothing seems like his true colors. He’s not sure yet what exactly might fit him, beauty wise, he’s better at connecting himself with melancholy. 

“Being australian weirdly enough suits you too,” And Chan laughs “I have this preconception that all australians are all good vibes and shit, probably because they have to deal with gigantic spiders,” 

“You’re not letting the spiders go, are you?” He giggles right after it, and Minho wants to make him giggle forever and ever.

“Never they’re enemy of my state,” Minho states then, and Chan giggles once again, Minhoo looks at the side, Chan is looking forward, while Minho only watches him behaving, with a smile painted on his face, once again that lightness hits, and Minho goes back to his old position, staring at the horizon, and he smiles at it too, he never thought he would be surrounded by the prettiest views ever, not even once. But he has it, for three days, he has it. 

“About Mitski, I have a lot to say,” Chan says then, after a while and Minho moves to the side again, to face Chan while he talks, he grabs on another cigarette lighting it with that pink lighter. 

“Go ahead, I think I would dump you if you didn’t,” Minho jokes and Chan looks at him grinning. 

“Thank god I do,” Chan places one hand in his heart to express relief and Minho just shakes his head while grinning, “I asked if you knew English because her lyrics are the core, and you’re very connected with them, I think I got to know you even better towards her,” 

“It was the purpose, I’m glad you understand english too, so I didn’t have to translate anything,” Minho plays with his hands, being a little nervous, he did want Chan to understand him by her, yet he feels weirdly naked because he did “Not only it’s inconvenient but I would fail to express the things she says without her own words,” 

“You made me really think about my music listening habits,” Chan notes, and he brushes his finger by his jawline, Minho stares at his fingers losing his focus for a while, “I’m a musician who rarely listens to way too relatable songs, only if very needed,” Minho gets his focus again, looking at Chan’s face. 

“It’s because you don’t need them, you write things that you can relate too, you have talent,” Minho thinks that so heavily, ever since the darkest of lovers, he realized Chan could be as intense as he is, yet, Chan hides it a little more, but there was something about how every note passed a feeling, how every word had its impact, it doesn’t surprise Minho that Chan is great with words, he proves it over and over again. 

“We shouldn’t go that far, but yes I think I might do that,” Minho hates when Chan underplays his talent, but he’s not the one to judge, since he's has been his main critic since ever, Minho is very hypocritical and he knows it but sometimes he holds it back, he doesn’t have a right to make up rules that everyone has to follow and proceed to break them, “But I wish I did, because now I realize that well, I don’t connect completely to music,”´

“But you have a further understanding of it though, it doesn’t matter the intensity or depth, you can catch up with the melody even in a empty song,” Chan pouts again, and Minho likes to see him processing words, it’s cute, “And I think you do that with everything and everyone, which is something I don’t, so I look for deep connections constantly,”

“You’re right, I like that about you though, it makes you unique, and it’s not something you should worry about,” Minho smiles, sometimes he does feel a little bit of a drama queen for being like that, too intense “And about melodies, I catched a lot from Mitski, melody wise, I’ll try not to use difficulty concepts because well, music theory is much like math, an important base that is a universal language, but can be used to create new and fresh things,” 

“Talk more about it, you love it very deeply and you gave it so much of your time, yet you don’t express it all the time,” Chan smiles shyly at Minho, and he realizes on the way his body reacts that he does not hear that often, or at all, Minho would tell him that every single day.

“You told me that the first time we talked, I think it made me more comfortable with creating, thank you for that,” Minho simply grins. 

“No need to thank me, it’s only honestly, go ahead,” 

“She writes her own stuff right?” He asks and Minho nods.

“She produces much of it too, she’s a bass player,” 

“Explained simply the influence of bass,” Minho bends his head to the side to pay attention fondly to every single word that leaves Chan’s mouth, “But I like it that the bass itself is a character of his own on her songs, violins and piano too, her songs are melancholic and she choose the three most melancholic instruments to create her songs, I loved it,” “Her music language is not only on the way she writes but how the melody interacts with the lyrics, I’m going to listen to her more often, it’s inspiring,”

“I’m very much inspired by her too, and urge to have skills to put my feelings so well into words like she does, I’m glad I have her to do it for me, but I wanted to have it too,”

“You can archive that actually, writing takes time effort and a clear mind, turbulent minds are more driven to paint more than write,” Minho remembers all the times he tried on writing or painting to leave behind a blank paper and a blank canvas, “Unless they have a gift or have been writing for a long time, it depends of how you shape your language, if you express it by words or gestures,” 

“I don’t tend to do either,” 

“I think you could if you wanted it, if you tried, I think you just assume you can’t do something but never tries,” 

“You’re… right,” He’s very much of a give uper “But I’m afraid of trying and being mediocre, it would haunt me, just thinking about it makes me miserable,” 

“It’s because you always reach for perfection not learning, maybe because most things you taught yourself,” Minho has always seeked perfection and maybe that’s very seen on the way he paints himself socially, abusing the privilege of being pretty, because that doesn't need fixing or skill, “It’s a good think, to learn fast, to create your own visions, but art and expression can’t be rushed, everyone starts mediocre, unless they’re born with it, which is rarer than you think,” 

“Maybe I should try more,” And that’s not only about that subject, it’s about everything, every single thing, trying is too risky, way too risky and it never seems to pay off. 

“You definitely should,” 

“What do you think I could try?” 

“I think you’re capable of doing any type of art you want, you’re very adaptable and very introspective, you need that,” 

“I’ll put some thought into it,” Minho says simply, but as always he won’t think about it now, because it seems like too much, “By the way, you’re so incredibly smart with music, it’s like you were made to do it, and I want you to pursue it, even if it takes forever, promise me someday you will,” 

“I will, I promise,” Chan says, and Minho smiles, he really wants to see Chan do something he likes, for once, just once, “I’m going to publish a whole album about you,” 

“Flattering to a certain point,” It’s actually anxiety inducing to know an album might be made about him, he’s not a very good or fluff character at all, so music about him aren’t too “Pieces about me are always a little bit sad,” 

“It’s your vibe, you’re a heartthrob and a heartbreaker, but you don’t like doing it,” He really liked once, until he tasted his own medicine, life always gets it back to you and at times it gets back even worse, if that is even possible, “My album won’t have that much sadness don’t worry,” 

“Do you have a name for it?” Minho is curious, Chan seems good with titles. 

“I don’t quite know yet, but someday you’re going to hear it,” Minho will, it doesn’t matter how many years into the future it’s out, or if it’s about him or not, it will be like medicine, getting a little bit of Chan’s voice around him daily, “I hope you like it,”

“Even if all the songs were roasting me, I would love it, it’s yours, your voice, your melody, your heart, I’m don’t care to be the villain, I just don’t want you to suffer,” 

Whiskey stops burning your throat at some point, it has some phases, the first gulp makes your eyes water a little bit and make a face, you can feel it burning all the way to your stomach, after a few gulps you just feel the need to make a noise, on the second cup, your whole body starts to get warm, like a summer night. After the third cup sometimes it burns but most times don’t, and then it’s like sour water, running and running down, until the point you’re too dizzy to stand up. 

They’re almost in the dizzy phase and it’s only 4pm, they end up in the living room again, now the sound that blasts out of the speakers is a blues playlist, that both of them know all the songs. A simple but cool factor, because now they sing along and swing around the living room together like little kids.

“All your loveee, baby can it be mine,” Minho sings along, and swings his body with the song, moving towards Chan that laughs along with the guitar, Minho ends up holding Chan’s neck, and they dance together.

“All your lovee, baby don’t put it around,” Chan sings and Minho laughs with his head on Chan’s chest while they dance together, Minho just laughs at nothing, while they stumble around to stay up. 

Minho kisses the corner of Chan’s mouth as the guitar solo is roaring against his ears, and then he kisses Chan’s nose, and laughs, Chan laughs with him, his eyes shining like crazy, his cheeks all blushed from the alcohol. Minho makes sure to kiss both of his warm cheeks too, and Chan smiles while he does it, they keep losing some balance making Minho laugh again. 

“I love blues so much, and you,” Minho whispers, stuttering, his voice is more melodic than normal, he feels slightly dizzy and his insides are bubbling, but not in a bad way, his heart racing. 

“I love blues and you too,” Chan says giggling, and Minho doesn’t care about the weights of any words, his head is silent, filled with blues and strawberry scent, his eyes don’t focus completely and he feels light, kissing Chan’s lips once, twice, and then a bunch of times before, a bunch of pecks, each time more longer, Minho loves blues so much, and he loves kissing Chan’s plump lips too. 

“Woman you might be stone down crazy,” Minho screams along the song, and leans back, Chan holding him while he sees everything upside down, and he laughs so sweetly, “Either you’re gonna lose your mind,” And Chan spins them around, Minho laughs and laughs, until his stomach is hurting, and he’s dizzy, so he just falls down from Chan’s embrace, laughing and laughing. 

Chan laughs too loudly, the guitar notes and the notes of his laugh blending together and Minho lays down on that hug again, smiling largely. Chan lays over him, just like the day under the rain, but they’re being showered by sounds, by the good music, and Chan smiles at him and Minho smiles back. Chan has that gaze, maybe that glaze means that he loves blues and Minho too, and when blues isn’t playing, he loves only Minho. 

“Kiss me, fool,” Minho hums, melodic too, with his voice not completely like his natural one, and Chan laughs, Minho feels as if he was born again, right there on the doorstep of that house, to relive something he missed without knowing how it felt, loving, laughing, happiness, lightness. 

Chan just kisses them, Etta James singing and singing words that don’t make that much sense right now, because Minho’s language was silenced by the feeling of Chan’s body over him, his lips against his and his tongue travelling around his mouth. 

He brushes the hair on Chan’s forehead out of their faces, and it goes back down when Minho holds both of Chan’s cheeks on his hands. He smiles into the kiss, tasting whiskey and cigarettes, a weirdly familiar taste, that reminds him of the kisses that weren’t that filled with love, passion, just the magnitude they always had, the chemistry and the physics bringing them together. Like magnets, he’s connected to Chan and feels unable to leave, and he might find other magnets on his way further, yet none of them will ever come as close to be pushed in, pushed closer. 

Minho is drunk and in love, and he kisses Chan a little more, he rolls him around takes the position on top, still kissing him as if it was the last, and as life is unpredictable it might be, he’s always ready for the expiration date, he’s obsessed with it, everything expires, everything will expire. So Minho always touches Chan as if he has to say goodbye, because tomorrow he will, and after tomorrow it’s a mystery. If he has to leave tomorrow, in which he does, he’s going to leave his heart hidden in Jeju, to lay underneath the sea, and no one will ever see it again, he won’t use it for any longer after he leaves the sea behind. 

With Blues Minho swings around and around on the living room for more time after getting up, and the light breeze of night gets into the room by the window, hands on his waist guiding, holding, and under the music there’s the sea, so restless, swing along with his small body filled with something, for the first time in a while. It’s euphoria, running down his bloodstream, circling around his muscles, embracing his whole body and soul. Happiness came to visit and it sounds like Blues echoing around an almost empty house, while the sea bangs against shore and it smells like Versace eros, strawberries and whiskey, all together.

Is this what love is supposed to feel like? Drunken laughs, stumbling and dancing barefoot over a fuzzy rug, Etta James, feeling dizzy but never stopping spinning, is that how it's supposed to feel like? Bubbling inside his body, a heart racing yet not aching, the smell of someone around the room, the knowledge that if you were supposed to fall, hands are going to catch you and even fall down with you? Is that love? Being with someone with no need to talk, just do dance and dance, laugh and laugh, with no further fear?

If love is supposed to feel like that, Minho likes love more than he ever did. If love is making a strange and never saw before house become home, if love is feeling safe in unusual territory, if love is to hear the sea, to run on the rain, to be kissed fondly, to listen to your favorite artist, if love is not ever feeling alone even though you don’t know if you’re real, love is worth it, and Minho wants more. 

Love came around in the shape of a man, a few inches taller, with broad shoulders, beautiful tattoos, muscles all around, with black curly hair that falls over his forehead. Love came in the shape of a man that is just like the sun, warm and bright, a small glimpse of light in a huge sky, glimpses of light inside eyes. Love came in the shape of long and pale hands that will hold Minho no matter what, in the shape of loving arms that wrap around his damaged and thin body, in the shape of a smile that is contagious, with bright and aligned teeth, and soft dimples to apply. It’s in the shape of a laughter so childlike it makes Minho feel young again, it makes him feel alive again.

If love is like that all the thunder and loud bangs in the sky were something else, if love is him, and if Minho loves him, all the pain is a little worth it. If that is love maybe the aggressive lovers that came before were just preparations, just demonstrations of what love isn’t like, it’s no longer betrayal and fakeness, is no longer empty eyes and inexpressive pierced eyebrows, is no longer too unnatural blue hair and love songs that were never meant to be his. It’s no longer bringing him chemicals instead of creating chemistry together, is no longer physical, rough it’s no longer a white powder or purple bruises on his cheeks. And love is not two lost souls swimming in a fish bow trying to find any type of hope in broken hearts. 

Minho has been denied that feeling ever since the first two existing beings in the world decided to not give it to him, or to each other, and he thought once love didn’t exist, if they never gave me a hug, if they never said “I love you” that might be the right way, isn’t? If they find things on other lovers and not on themselves that’s a demonstration that it doesn’t really exist, isn’t? If love is not touching, not saying, no demonstrating it’s just pain isn’t? It’s a waste of time isn't it?

The blue hair was too attention grabbing, and a heart that never knew how to beat though that the faster the better, and Minho fell, and maybe all those misconceptions weren’t as right, there was touching, saying, singing, there was hugs and kisses, the concept of having someone else remained truth, but if they look for someone else is because they don’t love each other, isn’t? He will love me, he loves me, he loves me more than he loves him, he will never leave me, he will leave him. He didn’t. If love is only lying and cheating it isn’t real is it? 

Minho wanted to be younger, fresher, he wanted to meet Chan years ago, before he made his choice, before Minho made his too. Maybe if he danced along to jazz while drunk with him before he already believed all those things, they could’ve been something. If Chan could be his, forever, he would dance with him every day, he’s just a lover, but he brought love back to live, as a flower that died during winter being reborn in the beginning of spring. Blooming and blooming. Winter always comes back though, it’s coming, it’s coming to get him.

If him and Chan could be an endless spring followed by summer, if they only met beforehand, if they were only able to run away, but summers never last forever, springs never last too, and even if they do, there’s always cold days to arrive, to shock you, to choke you with too many things wrapping your body, only for you to feel safe; Minho thinks he might never be completely free, because winter seems to stick around, only not in Jeju. If he could stay inside that house forever, for so long he became the house’s hostage, he would, he would forever dance in the fuzzy rug, until he’s too dizzy to ever stand again. 

I will come back to you. I will come back to you even if it means I should give up. Even if it is in the life before. I’ll come back to you;

Minho only stops dancing because he’s tired, and Chan seems tired too, he walks towards him, he’s not to far, and lays inside a hug, his drunkenness almost sweated out of his body, Chan helds him strongly while breathing heavily, and he laughs at nothing, Minho feels the vibrations of his laugh against his cheek that is placed on Chan’s chest. He looks at the doors, the white cortines dancing inside the poorly lighted room, driven by the wind. 

“I’m hot, and tired,” Minho whispers, and Chan moves one of his hands out of Minho’s waist to touch the back of his head, petting his hair softly, the music is still playing echoing inside Minho’s brain. 

“So am I,” Chan whispers back, and he kisses the top of Minho’s head, once and then twice, caring and sweet kisses, and Minhi never thought the gentlest of touches would make him feel good, he always felt like they needed to be rough, but he feels every hair of his body shivering with the slightest and lightest of touches, “Let’s hop outside a little,” Chan says, and Minho nods, he doesn’t leave the embrace he just moves his head away a little and looks up.

Chan is smiling as always, and Minho kisses the corner of his lip again, before finally leaving the embrace, but not completely, because now he’s the one to reach for Chan’s hand, and he looks at it proudly before taking the first steps. It’s liberating to be the one to guide, since he has been so passive about everything for so long. He walks confidently, and by the door the wind hits his face, and it’s like it’s taking things away from him and making it fade away with it.

The wind hits his face and body, and his feet touch the wet grass, the pool is calm but the sea is raging and ragin, the sound of music more distant as the sea gets closer and closer, he’s now embraced by the sounds of nature, nurturing his ears, petting his brain. His feet wet touching the grass while his hand holds Chan’s, and then he pulls him down, so both of them are sitting in the grass again, almost too close to the shore. Sometimes the waves hit and small drops of salty water hit his face, refreshing his warm cheeks, once too hot, and the hair that was glued to his forehead with sweat gets a little colder, a little more flowy. 

He doesn’t let go of Chan’s hand, their hands rest between their bodies, over the wet grass, Minho crosses his legs, and stares into the sea, it’s all a little dark, other than from the moon and some lights far away, the sea at night is the prettiest the waters are pitch black from far away and there’s highlights over it, that seems to remember Minho that life goes on, and that to give up it’s nonsense. There’s always light reflecting even in the darkest, deepest and more turbulent waters. There’s always life in the lowest parts of the sea, some ugly, some big, some small, some pretty, all shaped to resist the pressure, if creatures can grow in the deepest parts of the sea and to adapt to darkness and pressure, why can’t him? 

“It’s so refreshing to be close to the sea, it’s the purest of airs, I miss inhaling pure air every single day, even though I don’t do often,” Minho says then and sighs, one day he will live at the sea, and wake up and sleep smelling salty waters and inhaling the soft and light air, his throat will be no longer so clogged, and when he gasps for air trying to avoid panic, it will go down clear. 

“We only miss the things we don’t feel or do often, after a while around it, missing is no longer something we feel,” Chan says then, and he wants to someday never miss the sea and the air again, he wants to never miss physical touch again, never miss a smell again, never miss Chan again, but sadly he will only miss him more and more over the years. Unless he forgets him, unless someone breaks that down. 

“I hope to someday miss you no longer,” Minho decides to say what he thinks for one rare occasion, something he doesn’t do as often, “Only if I miss you for a couple of hours, I can’t take missing you for longer than that,” 

“I don’t want to miss you too, just like you said you’re going to do with my perfume, I want to have something that makes me miss you less,” Chan says, and Minho sighs, he never came to realize that Chan misses him too when they’re away, and it’s fresh to hear, even though it’s melancolic. 

“I’ll make sure I’ll let something behind with you, anything, and if I could I would make myself unmissable, just so you don’t suffer,” Chan lets air out of his nose, and it’s a sign of sadness, their hands move a little, because Chan’s shoulders drop off a little.

“You know, I inked the whiskey on my skin to have something of us always on me, and most of the times I’m missing you I smoke,” Chan says, and Minho’s heart feels like it’s getting locked on a cage, every beat hurts a little, and he looks at Chan’s face, and he looks back.

“I’m going to get inked with something to remember you too, when it gets too difficult,” And Minho will, he has never had a tattoo, only because he never found a meaning so big to start off with, at least the first tattoo you ever make has to be meaningful, “Why smoking?” Minho asks them.

“It reminds me of us, I don’t smoke as often, and I always remember when we first met and you lead me into the balcony, and asked me if I wanted one,” Chan says, and Minho remembers it clearly how he was avoiding the way being touched felt, how he was avoiding caring about having conversations that weren’t usual, “Ever since, I only smoke when I’m missing you, or am with you, whiskey and cigarettes are kind of our thing?”

“They’re… It’s cute that at least we have a meaning for our getaways, most of them are pointless,” Minho says, still looking at Chan’s face, and Chan simply nods.

“You like the stars, don’t you?” Chan asks out of the blue and Minho just nods, a little confused, “Lay down with me, love,” It comes out softly, careful, and Minho’s heart races, like a taste of adrenaline, just hearing how much is underneath Chan’s tone, and the words he used. Minho does so, he lays down over wet grass again, his hands still tied together with Chan’s. 

He understands the question right away, Minho was so perplexed by the sea, something so unusual that seemed to distant that now is palpable, he forgot something he might have missed even more, the shining sky, what is beyond, something he felt unable to experience because of the foggy lighten starts of a huge city, the sky, the prettiest of things is no longer overshadowed by meaningless lights. It shines on its own, with no need of something unnatural. 

It’s like someone splashed white shiny paint into a black and blue canvas, tiny white and reflective dots cover the whole entirety of the sky over his small body with hollow bones, some of them bigger than others, some of them connected forming worlds of their own, some of them are worlds that are very far away. Starry nights, filled with lights, lights of which might be dead or alive, still seem by small eyes on a small body on a small world, the stars not only represent the beauty but the fact that we will never be able to replace that beauty with our own. It’s being glad you’re alive to see it and being intimidated by the way those small dots show you that you’re small too, that your impact is nothing more than a bubble, and outside of it, there’s infinity. 

That day is special, not only because Minho learned about love, but because him and Chan are alone, with the sea and the stars, silence only filled by the natural sounds of a world so small yet so big, so small compared to the entirety of the great gig in the sky, so big compared to a human body. Looking at all those stars that even though they’re light years apart still light only remember Minho of how little time there is, how small his time here in this world filled with dark waters with glimmering reflection and celestial skies filled with glimmering dots is. 

That fear that we are not eternal painted over the prettiest of views, just reflecting both sides of life, the misery that it’s going to end, the paths we have to chose, the suffering we have to go through, but there’s always beauty, even in the most thoughtful images there’s the beauty who lays under it, life is tough yet the prettiest and most important thing we have, other than living, we are nothing, nothing but dust, rotting flesh and lost bones underneath a heavy ground. One who wishes to reach for the stars dies out of breath as he gets closer, there’s no reward for trying to do more than live.

“I will never forgive the city lights from keeping me more and more farway from this,” Minho says, “We are denied everyday of looking into the prettiest thing this world has to offer, and our only connection to what is beyond us,” He watches the lines and lines of stars, “That might be why everyone there believe they’re so big and powerful, they never have time to look at the stars and realize we are nothing, and that the only impact we have is on the people around us,” 

“I’ve always tried to do good because I thought a lot about that, I wanted to change the world someday, but the only thing I can do is to make the world more liveable for those around me,” Chan says, and Minho wants to tell him that being selfless is also giving your life away, but Minho gave his life away by being selfish. 

“It took me too long to realize it, I only judge it today because I once thought I was a star, but I’m nothing more than a small human under a spotlight,” World is still his stage, it will ever be, but he doesn't know how to play his role, “To be a star is not to shine under light, it’s to shine in the darkest of nights, in the most remote and distant places,” Minho says then, and he looks to the side, where Chan is laid, “You’re a star to me, Chan,” 

“I’m nothing more than a boy pretending to be a man, Minho, but I’m glad you see me like that,” It’s interesting, to realize how Minho and Chan see each other and themselves in different lights, and sometimes his brain is just filled with assumptions, maybe the way he sees Chan is not even his real self, just the way Minho’s brain sees it. It’s like the thing that everyone sees colors differently, which seems weird to imagine, but it happens, we see what we want to see, and sometimes what we see is covered by some blurriness that we can’t quite explain, and sometimes we might see things we don’t want, but it’s processed differently. 

“I think the only part you lack on being a star, is being able to shine on your own, someday I hope you’re free, to be a part of the sky fully, never forget your own light while bringing light to others,” Chan could be perfect if he wanted, not completely, but he walked a different path, he sees colors more vividly, he just doesn’t see red flags, “You’re like the sun, you light the sky every day without even noticing your existence makes people alive,” Minho still looks only at Chan under the sheer light of the sky, “You’re still burning though, and you can’t reflect the light you bring towards yourself,”

“Sometimes I think it’s a little too late for me to stop doing this, the not caring much about me thing,” Chan says and Minho knows exactly what he means, he feels it everyday, he’s too young to die but too old to change completely it seems. Too old to dream.

“It’s never too late, if you change that years from now it’s not too late, and I’m not saying that from experience, you told me you can’t rush art, you can’t rush life too,” Minho says, hoping it sticks around not only with Chan, but himself, “Living is an art of its own, it’s shaped by us, with our feelings, our skills, skills that we have to learn and relearn,” Minho looks into the sky again, his eyes shining along the sky, “It’s a little harder though, life doesn’t have a theory we can follow, only references, it’s up to us to chose one and change it when it’s not good anymore,” 

“Are you hearing yourself, Minho?” Chan asks, and Minho looks at him confused, “If you’re not, I hope you start doing it, you have a lot to things you have to tell yourself,” Minho nods looking at the sky again, “Thank you for that too, you’re my moon, a little too cold at times, filled with mystery, but always here to guide me around,” Minho smiles up to the sky.

“If we are ever apart, remember we are looking at the same sky,” Minho says then, as cliche as it might be, “When the sun sets the moon replaces it, and when the night is too dark the sun will shine, we are always going to be there somewhere, and there’s going to be always a piece of you in me,”

“And there’s always going to be a piece of you in me too, I’ll see the moon and think of you, forever, even if it’s an old memory,” Minho would cry if he could but he doesn’t feel sad, he has his hand still locked with Chan’s, he still has his presence here, even in that night the sun shines right beside him, he will keep the crying to when the sun is only farway on the sky and not a few inches apart with a piece of it connected to him. 

They watch the stars for a long time, Minho doesn’t really know for how long at all, he doesn’t feel the time passing, even though it does, the time doesn’t bring him that much pain anymore, just for that moment. The stars are eternal, as much as Minho and their relationship might not be, he will never be alone, he tells himself, the night sky is still over his head, even though everything might fall apart.

Chan kisses him goodnight, and Minho weirdly feels he might not wake up dissociating tomorrow, just because Chan gave him that peck on the lips from behind, just because Chan is holding him to sleep again, things are going to be okay, “I’m always safe with you,” Minho says before sleeping, swallowing the thought the he might feel unsafe forever when Chan leaves. 

Chan woke up first, but he didn’t leave the room, when he saw Minho getting up, he moved around the room, because Minho heard him, and when Minho got his head out of the pillow to sit on the bed, Chan was sitting on the corner of the bed looking at him. His first view that morning is Chan, but not his Chan. He still is wearing his clothing, but his hair is once again straight and combed to the top, on a tuft, that’s the Chan he met, not his Chan, “What happened to your curls?” Minho asks, while rubbing his eye, he feels ok, but he doesn’t like when Chan straightens his hair. 

“I have to straighten it a long time before going to work so it stays like this,” Minho is confused why Chan is talking about work if they’re in Jeju.

“Do you have to work today?” Minho asks confused and Chan frowns.

“I work today at night, after we arrive in Seoul, I’ll head straight to the company,” Minho is inside a nightmare but he has just woken up. Yesterday it didn’t occur to him that he had a flight today too, at 3pm. 

“Oh,” He says while rushing to grab his phone from the desk right beside him, he looks at the clock, 10pm, he has so little hours his heart starts beating faster and faster, and Minho takes a long breath to hold the panic down.

“Are you okay?” Chan asks with a very worried tone, and Minho’s stomach hurts so much it’s almost unbearable, agony and despair starts to run all over his brain, and he feels like he just catched on fire. Minho reaches for Chan’s hand and gets up right after it, “What you’re doing?” Chan asks while Minho drags him out of the bedroom and to the stairs, he would start running if he could, if he could run away from there with Chan, if he could run away from Jeju, from Seoul, if could run and never, never stop. 

Minho drags Chan from the bedroom to outside very quickly, and Chan stays quiet, they get to the pool and Minho lets go of Chan’s hand to start undressing himself, taking off the Pink Floyd shirt that belongs to Chan out of his body, “What are you doing?” Chan asks.

“Take off your clothes,” Minho orders, and he looks at Chan with his oblivious and confused gaze, and he feels that agony again, like he can feel every second fading away, every small drop of time getting lost in the past, “Please, quickly” Minho says in the edge of tears but he bites his tongue, he just has to stay quiet and then he won’t cry there, just don’t say anything. 

Chan does it quickly gazing at Minho while doing so, his face filled with concern and confusion, and Minho might look crazy, and he feels crazy, the tic tac of a clock seems to be inside his head, the pointer getting down and down. When Chan is undressed, only in his boxer just like Minho, he holds Chan hand again, “Let’s swim,” He says under his breath, still holding everything inside. 

Minho moves forward and Chan just follows his steps, and then while holding his hand they jump into the water, and the tic tac is getting further when he’s submerged, their hands are no longer connected and Minho opens his eyes under water quickly to see Chan also inside of it, he’s still there, he is still there by his side. Minho doesn’t get back into the surface, he just holds his breath and tries to swim for as long as possible, and when he’s out of the water, he looks at Chan who has his head out of the water. It doesn’t take long for him to be close, because Chan swims towards him fast.

When Chan is close, he wraps his arms around Minho’s waist, and Minho wraps his arms around Chan’s neck, his hair is still flat that’s not right, it should get curled up again, it should have curls but it’s just straight hair, “Why don’t they come back?” Minho asks, proceeding to move Chan’s hair around so there’s products there holding it straight, and he starts to panic again when it doesn’t. His breathing gets heavy as he makes his hands wet and goes back moving Chan’s hair. 

“It won’t work, Minho, stop,” But Minho keeps trying it repeatedly, “Baby, stop,” And Minho does, he freezes in place, his stomach hurts more and more, it’s almost like a hangover, but he knows it’s not the reason. 

“Don’t call me baby,” Minho says, while his brain rushes and rushes, just like time does, and it’s passing, time is passing and passing. 

“Why?” Chan asks and Minho wishes he didn’t, he doesn’t have time to explain, he doesn’t have words to explain the way his heart is aching and aching, how his stomach is spinning around, there’s no word explanation to the agony and the despair, there will never be, other than physical reactions, other than panic, panic, panic. 

“It makes it worse,” Minho says before dropping his head on Chan’s shoulder with defeat, yet he can’t get himself to cry, he just can’t get himself to cry, it doesn’t get out, something has broken inside Minho and it’s like he heard it cracking. Something broke inside him, along with the fantasy.

Minho doesn’t cry while eating, he doesn’t cry when he has to get ready, he doesn’t cry while he hugs Chan for all the third minutes he has left, he doesn’t cry leaving by the side of the house that he walked in holding Chan’s hand, he doesn’t cry while waiting for his taxi, he doesn’t cry on his way to the airport, he doesn’t cry inside the plane, he just throws up all his lunch on the bathroom inside it. Minho doesn’t cry while seeing that same old town that he hates, he doesn’t cry in the lobby or the elevator.

Minho unlocks the door, gets in, and moves towards the kitchen, dropping his baggage on the midway, Minho doesn’t cry when he sits down on the floor, he screams first, he screams so loudly everyone on his building might’ve heard, he screams again, and again, until his voice starts breaking. When his voice breaks finally, Minho cries. He cries so loudly and so desparately it’s like he just witnessed the death of the thing he loved the most in the world. And maybe he did.

Minho’s false sense of freedom died, Minho’s happiness died, and his heart is buried underneath the sea of Jeju, while the sea from everywhere else drops down his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE IT IS, quite a turbulent yet comforting type of chapter. I hope everyone liked it, if you have any thoughts and parts you like especially you can always comment, it makes me very happy. 
> 
> THANK YOU AND GOODBYE.
> 
> With love, Rainy.

**Author's Note:**

> It’s my favorite work, I hope you liked it as much as I do. Another part coming very soon.
> 
> Rainy.


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